


Disuphere

by ficdirectory



Series: Disuphere series [1]
Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cerebral Palsy, Disability, Disuphere Universe, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Original Character Death(s), Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2020-01-01 05:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 64
Words: 107,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18329912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: When Jesus Foster disappears at age nine, and four years pass, all hope seems lost. Until he is rescued. He comes home deeply affected and his family must adjust to having a very different child than the one they lost.





	1. Prologue

**_THEN_ **

**_Friday, September 7, 2007_ **

**_11:00 AM_ **

_Jesus kept his head up and walked out the doors, while all the other kids went to lunch.  He was so tired and his neck felt stiff and sore.  He needed to go home and sleep.  Good thing he could pretty much see his house from school._

_He would stay on the sidewalk and be there in no time._

_His backpack felt like it weighed a million pounds.  Fourth grade was way too hard.  Jesus blinked back tears as his head started to hurt._

_Just like that, a car pulled up next to him:  “Hey, I’m a friend of your mom’s,” the guy inside said.  “Need a ride?”_

_Hesitating for only a moment, Jesus thought about what his moms taught him.  All the warnings flashed through his head.  Never taking a ride from someone you’re not expecting to.  But he was so tired, and he would get home even faster with a ride.  Plus, they wouldn’t want him being rude to their friends when this guy was just trying to be nice._

_“Thanks,” Jesus sighed, relieved.  He got in the car, put his head against the door, and fell asleep as the car started moving._


	2. Chapter 2

**NOW**

**Tuesday, October 14, 2014**

**Home: 3 years**

The house around Jesus is alive with noise and action.  It’s after school, but before supper, so everyone is home.  Well, not Mom yet.  But she will be.  Even though it’s been years, Jesus is still not used to how unpredictable it is here.

It’s been seven years since he was a dumbass and got in a car with Him.  Now, everything’s changed.  He can’t relax.  He can’t let his guard down.  All he can do is feel on edge and wait for it to pass.  

He’s got two and a half months before it passes for good.  And even then there will be moments that will steal his breath.  Times when he’ll have to remind himself that he’s okay and safe.

Sometimes, it’s a small thing…that turns out not to be so small.  He steps from his room to the bathroom, knocking briefly before he opens the door.  He looks around, swallowing.  Turns and locks both doors because it’s a habit he can’t break.

He doesn’t know why he’s in here, except…

Jesus keeps staring at the brand new pack of face cloths that Mama bought at Target.  She has no way of knowing that the same ones are sold at Wal-Mart, and that using them makes Jesus feel like he is There again.

Just seeing them is enough for Jesus to start thinking how he used to.  For him to find himself bending toward the trash can, to pick out the used face cloth from this morning that he knows was his.  To think about folding it up and keeping it on him.  It served two purposes: it gave him access to a way to wash up no matter where in the house he was, and it saved money.  And saving money was always on his mind.  If it was a big deal Then, with just two of them, it definitely was on his mind now that he had five siblings and his moms to think about.

He stops himself before he touches the garbage:

“You’re not There.  You don’t have to do this.  You’re safe here,” Jesus says to himself quietly.

He catches his own eye, stares at his reflection in the mirror.  Sometimes it still surprises him that he’s sixteen now.  He’s tall. As big as the man he dreamed of being so he could have a prayer of fighting back.  Of getting away.  He doesn’t see the kid he was anywhere in his image in the glass except…  His eyes are the same.  Brown and sad, but not so desperate.  His hair is the same.  Dark brown and starting to curl.  He’ll have to mention to Moms he needs a haircut.

He wonders if that’s too many things to need at once, and then shakes his head, to clear the thought and goes to find Mama.

He finds her in the kitchen, his youngest sister, Frankie, on a chair next to hers, trying to toss the salad, with Mama’s gentle instructions.

“It helps if you can keep the salad in the bowl.”

“I know!  It just keeps jumping out!” Frankie giggles.

They look like each other.  Mama’s long and lean.  She’s got a quiet strength that served her for years as the assistant principal at Anchor Beach until Jesus came back.  She’s who Jesus goes to if he needs to talk.  If he needs to feel heard.  If he’s feeling vulnerable.

Frankie’s petite, with Mama’s dark curls and brown eyes the same shade.  Frankie is four “and a half.” (She’s serious about that half.)  She was born when he was gone, and she is the best surprise Jesus could have gotten, coming home to a house full of people who expected him to be a certain way, and people who were total strangers.  Frankie never judged him.  She never compared him or talked about all the ways he changed.  

“Jesus!  I’m gonna be Doc McStuffins for Halloween!  That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, that’s good,” he echoes, catching Mama’s eye.

“Frankie, why don’t you go wash up?  Dinner’s almost ready.”

“She’s okay,” Jesus nods and swallows.  “It’s just…  We need new face cloths…and I need a haircut kinda soon…”

If Mama is surprised she doesn’t show it.  “Okay,” she says.  “I’ll call Mom to bring home new ones with her tonight.  And I’ll schedule an appointment and let you know when, okay?”

“Yeah.  Thanks.”

“Are you okay in the meantime?”

“Yeah,” he nods.  He steps to the counter and stirs the salad idly.

Frankie turns to Mama and asks seriously: “Can I get new face cloths?”

“When you’re a teenager, I’ll get you face cloths.” Mama concedes.

“I’m a teenager right now!”

“Oh, please, no…” Mama jokes, covering Frankie’s face in kisses.  “I need my baby to stay my baby for as long as possible.”

Frankie squeals.  “Ew!  Not kisses!” but when Mama stops, she offers her face for more.

Super slightly, Jesus tips his head forward and raises an eyebrow.  

“Kiss?” she asks.

He nods a little, and she takes his face between her hands and presses her lips to his forehead.  He wraps his arms around her, and knows, in that moment, that everything’s okay.

When he pulls back, Mama asks, “Can you take Frankie to wash up?”

“Yeah.  No problem.”

“Frankie, I want you to wash your hands, and then bring me the face cloths out of the bathroom, okay?”

“Is it my  _job_?” Frankie asks and Jesus isn’t sure if she wants it to be or not.

But Mama doesn’t say one way or another.  She just says, “It’s your responsibility.  I’m counting on you.”

“Okay!  You can count on me!  Hold hands?” Frankie asks Jesus, offering one.

“Sure, buddy,” Jesus smiles taking it, and they walk side by side down the hall.  She needs to know he’ll be there if she loses her balance, and he holds her hand to keep himself grounded in what’s happening now, especially if he’s going back in the bathroom.

“Don’t worry.  I’ll take the yucky face cloths to Mama.  You don’t have to touch ‘em.”

“Thanks.”

“‘Cause we’re buddies, right? And we’re family.  And family takes care of family.”

Jesus swallows.

“Yeah.” he says.  “That’s totally right.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Family dinner is something Jesus both digs and has to get ready for.  It’s a lot of energy.  A lot of noise.  A lot of triggers.  But he tries to focus on the things that are good about it.  Like Mom coming home.

If Mama’s the person he goes to if he is feeling vulnerable, Mom is the one Jesus trusts to keep him physically safe.  She’s a cop.  So, it’s literally her job to be sure that no “shenanigans” (her word) happen on her watch.  It makes him feel more secure when she’s there, even if she’s also ten times louder than Mama, yelling “Hey, babies!” when she comes through the door.

Frankie runs to her and wraps her arms around her legs.  “Did you catch all the bad guys today?”

“Well, I sure tried,” Mom says, boosting Frankie a little higher in her arms.

Jesus is trying not to be a pain, but he can’t quite shake the need he has to trail Mama from the stove to the table and back.  Mama has started asking him to tell her he’s there by saying “behind” like they do in restaurant kitchens.  He’s too nervous right now to actually help out with the food, and Moms don’t give him kitchen chores.

“Frankie, come on.  Set the silverware around,” Mariana prompts.  Mariana’s Jesus’s twin sister, but they couldn’t be more different.  She’s short and super smart.  She’s not worried all the time, or if she is, she doesn’t show it.  They both love Frankie, that’s for sure.  Sometimes it feels like Mariana’s Frankie’s mom the way she looks after her.

“Callie, will you go get Brandon and Jude?” Mama asks.

“Yeah,” she confirms, aiming her phone at the lasagna for the perfect shot of dinner for Insta.

Callie’s the family photographer.  Jesus tends to stay out of her way, because pictures aren’t his favorite thing.  She’s seventeen, only ten months older than Jesus and Mariana.  Callie and her younger brother Jude were in foster care before Moms adopted them.  It’s weird, though, because that all happened when Jesus was gone.  Callie’s strong and firm, and fights for what she wants.  She’s a little intimidating.  They don’t hang out or talk much.

“You should tag Mama in that so she can get more followers,” Mariana suggests.

(Mama’s Instagram is the funniest thing.  It’s literally just pictures of stuff she sees at Target she thinks is funny or ridiculous.  Also, pictures of their grocery lists and the stuff in their fridge.  Mariana’s tried explaining what the app is actually for, but Mama either doesn’t get it, or doesn’t care.)

“I don’t need more followers.  And I don’t need the validation of strangers liking my food,” Mama says lightly.

“Lasagna, again?” Brandon complains, dragging in at the last possible minute.  

“You are more than welcome to help cook or shop, young man,” Mom reprimands.

Brandon’s ten months older than Callie, which means he’s eighteen.  Which means he thinks he knows everything and doesn’t think he should have to follow any rules.  He’s Mom’s biological son from her first marriage to a dude named Mike, who’s a cop, too.  Brandon basically hates everything and thinks Moms have too many expectations and are too strict.  He wears a lot of black and eyeliner in protest, because he knows Moms don’t like it.

Jesus is probably the only kid that likes expectations.

“Hey, I helped make that,” Jude puts in, a little offended, but he’s smiling.  Jude’s almost fourteen, and he makes Jesus more nervous than anyone in the house.  They seriously never even are in the same room together unless other people are around.  Jude is Callie’s younger brother.  He’s confident and opinionated and loves doing plays, dancing and singing.  He’s getting tall and he’s not afraid to speak his mind.

Jesus swallows.  Now he’s kinda nervous to eat the lasagna.  Not that he doesn’t trust Jude, but…the idea of it just makes him nervous.

While Mama serves Frankie a piece of lasagna, Mom cuts one for Jesus and puts it on his plate with some salad and garlic bread.  Jude, Callie, Brandon and Mariana serve themselves.

“Hey guys!” Frankie says, around a giant bite of lasagna.  “I got those bad face cloths out of your bathroom.  You’re welcome.”

“Why’d you take them?” Callie asks, a little annoyed.  “They’re for teenagers.”

“I know.  Jesus doesn’t like them, so Mama said she was counting on me to take them away, and I did.”

Jesus clears his throat.  Inclines his head toward Mom at the table.  “Yeah…  Did you get more?”

“Not yet, but I promise I will.  Can you use a warm washcloth until then?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to say yeah if it’s not true.”

“It is.”

“Okay.  I’ll get them as soon as possible.  Mama got rid of the other ones for you?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jesus confirms, taking a small bite of lasagna.  It’s awesome.  Jude, for all the stress he causes Jesus, is one hell of a cook.

“Jude.  Dude.  This is A-plus…” Jesus mumbles, not looking him in the eye.

He can hear the smile in Jude’s voice as he says, “Thanks.”

“Well, I’m sure Jude’s so pleased that His Majesty finds the food satisfactory…” Brandon remarks.  “Sorry the toiletries aren’t to the King’s liking…” His words are charged with an undercurrent of resentment.

Callie elbows Brandon, but Mom doesn’t speak up to tell him to straighten out.

“Miss Thang,” Mama says, noticing Mariana has her phone out at the table.  “Put that away.”

“Just a sec…” she says, typing furiously.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” Jesus asks.

“Tweeting President Obama that you like Jude’s cooking,” she offers him a sarcastic, but sweet smile that almost cancels out Brandon’s bitterness.

“Yeah?” Jesus asks, a slow smile spreading.  “Well I tweeted FLOTUS this morning that you only took 25 of your 15 minutes in the bathroom.”

“So nice of you!” Mariana says laughing, and tucking her phone in her pocket.

Jesus brings his plate to the sink and then excuses himself and goes upstairs, pausing outside his room.  He doesn’t have a door anymore (at his own request) but beads hanging in the open doorway.  Outside his doorway, there is a laundry basket beneath an end table, and on top of it, an indoor mailbox.

Jesus hasn’t checked it in a long time.  Because the only time he gets mail is when it’s his birthday or something, and that’s long gone.

Still, he takes the full basket of clothes into his room and sets it on the bed.  Then, he opens the mailbox and peeks inside, totally expecting it to be empty.

Instead he finds an envelope, addressed to him in messy handwriting.  There is a return address but no name.  Jesus brings it into his room and rips it open, taking out the single sheet of notebook paper and reading:

_Thursday September 18, 2014_

_Jesus,_

_You probably don’t remember me.  I’m Ethan and I’m fifteen now.  He called me Caleb.  He called you Josh.  He kept us in a  big white house that looked normal.  He said he had a dog but he really didn’t.  I’m telling you this stuff so you know I’m for real._

_I’m writing because those 10 days were the worst of my whole life but being home is worse because no one here gets what it was like.  Counseling is a joke.  So I wanted to talk to you._

_I’m pissed off too and he’s not here to be pissed at so I am writing you instead.  Because you could have took me with you when you escaped but you didn’t and you didn’t even tell them about me.  I know because you never came back from school and it was dark like the middle of the night when the police got there.  He could have come back and killed me._

_Did you care?  Did you help him get me?  Did you think for a second that maybe there was somebody else that needed help?  I know you heard me bc I heard you.  He used to hurt me bc you wouldn’t do stuff so I had to.  I wanna talk to you but I hate you._

_I don’t expect to hear from you bc your a selfish asshole.  But if you do decide to be a man and own up to your mistakes, email me at ethanm610@gmail.com_

_Ethan_

Jesus feels lightheaded, and sits on the bed behind him.  Frankie brings in the mail, with Mariana or Callie’s help.  Moms don’t usually see it.  No wonder they didn’t catch this.  

He can’t quite catch his breath but makes himself calm down.  

It’s no big deal that the kid that got kept with him is contacting him…is hating him…  It’s no big deal.

He can get through this.

Jesus knows, because he’s been through so much worse.


	4. Chapter 4

**_THEN_ **

**_Monday, October 3, 2011_ **

**_Missing:  4 years and 26 days_ **

_Josh walked up the long drive which snaked around the house.  When he saw the truck parked around back, he felt his guard go up.  What was He doing home now?  Josh counted on having all after school and far into the night on his own.  Time when he could breathe.  Be.  Think.  But with Him around, Josh didn’t have any of that._

_Stef was there in the back of his head._

_(No, not Stef.  Mom.)_

_She was telling him how to act.  How to go in the house quietly.  How to listen for clues to what was going on.  She was in his head more often now, and Josh was sure it was because she knew he was going to need her.  He didn’t care why.  He was just glad she was there.  It was good not to be alone._

_Josh eased open the rickety back door and didn’t let it bang shut._

_“First clue,” he breathed.  Normally, if He was home in the middle of the day, it was because Josh did something, or because something bad happened and He wanted to take it out on Josh.  It wasn’t fair, it was just what happened._

_If He wasn’t in Josh’s face right away there had to be a reason for that.  What reason?  Was He sick?  He was never sick.  He always said God protected Him and let Him do whatever He wanted because God gave man free will.  Josh wasn’t religious, and he was only thirteen, but he was pretty sure it didn’t work like that._

_Josh kept moving through the house.  Barely breathing.  He held on tight to the straps of his backpack, wearing it in front of him like a shield._

_“Breathe,” Mom said in his head.  “Stay calm.”_

_Josh took a deep breath, and the blood stopped rushing in his ears like it did that first day.  He could hear now.  Finally._

_Music blasting.  Dumb by Nirvana._

_Josh’s heart sank because he totally got what this was._

_For months, He had been talking to Josh about it._

_“Why don’t you bring your friends around?  I’d like to meet them.”  He said it over dinner.  Like they were normal.  Like He was a normal father.  But Josh saw it in His eyes.  That hungry look.  Like He was an animal.  That sick and twisted look, like Josh was gonna get it tonight._

_“Okay,” Josh had said, sounding calm even though he hadn’t been at all.  “I’ll see if they want to.”_

_Josh had friends at school, but he wasn’t gonna ask them if they wanted to come to super hell with him.  It was one thing when He got kids and brought them home.  Josh wasn’t about to do it, too.  Not unless he had to, in order to survive._

_Walking past the basement door, he vaguely heard banging and yelling.  Blinking, Josh swallowed._

_So, it was true._

_So what?_

_Carefully, Josh put his bag in his room, hung up the way He liked it.  Josh’s own room was spotless, even with all the stuff He got, Josh kept it picked up.  Because He hated messes and clutter._

_It was the dumbest thing Josh ever heard because this house was the biggest mess anybody ever saw.  It was the perfect excuse to use for why he couldn’t get his friends to come over.  (“They don’t want to.  They were judging us by the house and saying it looks gross.”)  He hated it when people dissed Him.  He got all angry and bitter, calling names and pacing around.  He breathed heavy and made Josh nervous._

_It was such a relief when He just got it over with.  Josh hadn’t blanked out all the way.  Just enough to hear Him say, disappointed, “You’re getting too big to do this.”_

_Josh had tried to do everything he could to hold Him off actually getting another kid:  mostly, he said he wasn’t hungry.  Stopped eating except what he had to eat to live.  Kept himself small on purpose because that’s what He liked._

_It had worked, but only for a bit._

_Now, Josh got to work, cleaning the kitchen and making supper.  (It was a crapshoot if he’d be allowed to eat any or not, but it was on him to make it.)  He got out a plate and assembled the basic pizza he learned two years ago in Family and Consumer Science.  It only had, like, three ingredients and it tasted awesome._

_Josh wondered if he should make more now.  For the new kid.  Or if he was supposed to just play dumb and let Him tell it when He wanted to._

_He got the pizza bread ready and made some green beans because Lena (No…Mama…) always said meals had to be colorful to be nutritious.  He didn’t have much, but Josh was good at stretching what there was._

_When the kitchen looked really nice, and the supper was all the way ready, Josh stood next to the table.  One plate was set at His place, with the pizza and the vegetable in the middle of the table.  He hated it when Josh messed up and dished up His food for Him.  He hated people assuming things._

_At 6:30 exactly, He came upstairs.  Josh knew that on His days off, He expected supper to be right then._

_He looked at the table and made a face like He smelled something rotting:  “This shit again?”_

_“I can make something else.”_

_“If you could make something else, why the hell didn’t you?  You’re such a dumbass…”_

_He sat down at the table and took a bite, moaning, even though two seconds ago, He was saying the food sucked.  But the words out of His mouth sent chills down Josh’s back:_

_“This one is perfect.”_

_Josh blanked out then, but only, like, Level 1,  because he still had to be aware of what was going on and be able to answer questions and follow directions.  But he also had to think.  Had to see if Mom was still in his head somewhere.  To tell him it was okay to think about the plan._

_Josh had known he needed to get away since day one.  But it wasn’t until the summer before last that it got real.  That need to escape.  He’d tried early on and got major punishment and never tried again for years.  The next thing he tried, last fall, hadn’t worked either, but this had to._

_So, he started listening for Mom in his head.  But it was Mari who came through:_

_“Sometimes, you have to make a choice, Jesus.”_

_Jesus._

_Josh hadn’t heard that name - been that person - since he was nine.  Was he still?  Could he go home?  Would they remember him?  Would they still want him?  Still love him?_

_But then he remembers Mama’s words, along with the warnings she and Mom gave all those times, years before this happened.  Mom had said to do whatever they had to do to survive, but it was Mama who said: “No matter what happens, know that we love you.”_

_Josh keeps an eye on Him but really he’s working it through in his head.  The plan he’s been thinking about for a whole year.  It won’t work if he just tries to get other normal people to help.  That had failed a bunch of times._

_When he tried this time, Josh knew he would have to do something bad enough that the police got involved.  Something they couldn’t ignore._

_Josh thought of what Mariana used to do as a kid, when she wanted attention but Ana, their birth mom was high or drunk.  How she would look an adult right in the face as she broke the most expensive thing there was._

_It made Josh nervous, but he knew that there was no need for one perfect thing and old used up one.  When you got something new, you threw the old thing away._

_It was time to watch and wait.  And at just the right time, Josh was gonna have to be brave and act._

_“Moms give me strength,” Josh wished, inside his head, and hoped they could hear him._


	5. Chapter 5

_Stef paused before going inside.  She breathed.  Made sure she didn’t look like a cop who had ID’d another body, relieved and horrified to learn that, no, it wasn’t her son._

_Instead, she knew she had to focus on right now.  Right now her family needed her.  Their youngest, Frankie, just received a diagnosis of Cerebral Palsy, as a result of her premature birth.  It was something Stef could deal with - at least Frankie would live._

_“What can we do?” she had asked a week ago at the appointment.  “What’s her prognosis?”_

_There were therapies suggested, and a maddening lack of information.  CP, she learned, was a spectrum condition.  It essentially meant their daughter had sustained brain damage at some point during or after birth.  Some kids did well, and were minorly affected, while others required more involved care._

_It wasn’t until the doctor asked, “Mrs. Adams Foster?  Are you alright?” that Stef realized.  The entire time she had been lost in her own thoughts about Frankie’s quality of life, Lena had been quietly crying._

_“Honey, what is it?” Stef asked, taking her hand._

_“I’m sorry.  I can’t stay here.” Lena apologized, boosting a startled looking baby Frankie higher on her hip and leaving the office._

_Outside, in the cruelly bright sunlight, their baby between them, Lena had fallen apart.  “Did I do this to her?  Is it my fault?”_

_“No, love.  It’s not.  It’s not your fault,” Stef whispered, holding them both._

_“Maybe if I had stayed pregnant longer.  If I had taken better care of myself,” Lena wept._

_Stef stood by silently, feeling the weight of her wife’s sadness.  She felt sure that in a different life, Lena would have taken a diagnosis like this more in stride…but they had already lost a child.  While they hadn’t buried Jesus, they had mourned his loss._

_Stef knew the statistics.  If a missing child was not recovered alive in the first 24 hours,  the chances of them ever coming home alive were slim to none.  Four years might as well have been four eternities to her and to their family.  Like a wound that scars, any subsequent injury, even something less severe, brings back all that old pain._

_That night, Stef had told Lena, she would take the lead in telling the kids about Frankie’s diagnosis.  They could not think it was sad and horrible.  Because it wasn’t.  Their sister was alive.  She was here._

_They asked questions:_

_Mariana: “Is she in pain?”_

_Callie: “What can we do?”_

_Jude:  “Is she gonna be okay?”_

_And Stef answered each one honestly.  She pointed out Frankie’s smiling face as proof she didn’t hurt, told the kids to be good to each other and keep up with their chores, and said that absolutely, Frankie was going to be okay._

_Presently, Stef walked through the door into the kitchen.  She was home late tonight.  Too late for dinner, but she didn’t have an appetite._

_“Hey, Mom,” Callie greeted._

_“Hey, my sweet.  Where is everyone?”_

_“Um…I don’t know.  I think Mama’s helping Jude with homework.  I don’t know about Brandon, and Mariana has Frankie somewhere.  I think she was gonna give her a bath?”_

_Stef walked upstairs and past Brandon and Jude’s room, where Lena was helping him with math.  Fifth grade math.  Had Jesus ever made it to fifth grade?_

_Stef made eye contact with Lena and continued down the hall.  She stopped short at the sight of Jesus’s bedroom door ajar, and Brandon standing inside._

_At fifteen, Brandon was getting quieter and more surly, but at least, he seemed to do well at his dad’s.  These days, Stef rarely knew what was going on in his head._

_“Everything okay, B?” she asked, blinking back tears._

_As they never got official word on Jesus, having a funeral had never seemed right.  Instead of sitting at a cemetery and laying flowers, they regularly went into Jesus’s bedroom, which remained as he had left it that morning in 2007.  Action figures on the floor.  Clothes on the bed.  Stuffed animal shoved in the corner by the wall.  It was like a time capsule._

_Slowly, Brandon turned and looked at her, his arms crossed.  “I seriously can’t keep living with Jude.  He grinds his teeth.  And there’s a perfectly good room right here.”_

_“No.”_

_“Mom, come on. I’m not being an ass.  I’m being realistic. It’s been four years!  Can’t I just move in?  It’s stupid to keep the room like we think he’s coming back.”_

_“You had better watch yourself, young man,” Stef growled stepping into Brandon’s space.  She had to force herself to step back, before she did something she would regret._

_Stef went back downstairs, finding Mariana in the living room, playing with Frankie.  Seeing her at thirteen, it was damn near impossible not to try and imagine Jesus at the same age.  She was still growing into herself, but there were hints of the woman she was becoming, in her character as well as her appearance._

_“Did you do your homework, Miss Thang?” she asked._

_Mariana nodded.  “Yeah.  It was easy.  No big deal.”  She shrugged.  Jesus’s disappearance had been hardest on Mariana, but the arrival of Frankie gave her a new sense of identity and purpose, outside of being a twin._

_“Ah-na-na!”_

_“What, baby?” Mariana answered, her attention on Frankie as she pointed vaguely at something across the room._

_With an impressive attentiveness, Mariana scooped up Frankie and carried her in the general direction the baby was pointing.  The wall where all their pictures hung._

_“Baby,” Frankie said, seeing herself, reaching a slimey hand to caress the frame, but Mariana stood back far enough for that to be avoided._

_“That’s right!  That’s baby Frankie!  And who is this?” Mariana pointed to Lena._

_“Mama…” Frankie grinned._

_On and on they went, with Frankie correctly identifying everyone in the pictures until…._

_“B?” she asked, pointing to the last school picture of Jesus.  Nine years old and looking sharp in a tee shirt and another layered over it, a gentle smile on his face.  “Ah-na-na!  B?”_

_Stef held her breath.  She couldn’t speak.  Not on the heels of her conversation with Brandon upstairs.  Not on the heels identifying another dead kid, and confronting that awful moment that it could be him…_

_“No, not Brandon.  That’s Jesus.  He’s your brother,” Mariana told Frankie simply._

_“Buddy?” Frankie tried, and Mariana kissed her cheek._

_“You got it.”_

_The next night, Frankie cruised from room to room, hanging onto Jude’s hands.  “Buddy?” she called.  “Buddy?”_

_“Who is she looking for?” Jude laughed._

_“Jesus,” Mariana filled in, her face serious.  Stef occupied herself with her looking over Jude’s permission slip for an upcoming field trip.  She held her breath again.  Willing Mariana to change the subject._

_Instead, she looked Frankie in the eyes  and said honestly: “He had to go bye bye.  But he wants to come back, and we want him back, too.  When he comes back, he’ll be your buddy.”_

_Lena was going to be home late tonight, so bedtime was Stef’s responsibility.  Frankie was first, demanding to read Goodnight Moon no less than three times, before she was tucked into her crib in their bedroom.  Jude was next, and he was worried about his math test.  Stef did her best to tell him not to worry._

_Then, she braced herself, and went to Mariana, who was waiting in her PJs._

_“Will you tell Mama to hug and kiss me when she’s home?”_

_“Absolutely.”_

_Stef listened, as Mariana shared about her day, but her thoughts were elsewhere.  When she finished the story of how two girls climbed out the first floor window at Anchor Beach that morning, Stef turned the conversation:  “Listen, my love, I need to tell you something.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“It’s about Frankie…and Jesus…”_

_Mariana waited, her face open, and a little wary._

_“Mariana, love, you can’t talk to her about this.”_

_Her eyes narrowed, defensive: “About what?  Jesus is her brother, too.”_

_“I know that.  That is not what I’m saying,” Stef maintained, trying to keep her cool._

_“Well what are you saying?”  Definitely on the offensive now, Mariana sat forward, blankets in her hands._

_“Watch your tone,” Stef cautioned.  “I am saying, she is a baby and doesn’t need to know about these things.”_

_“She doesn’t need to know she has another brother?!  That he’s out there somewhere?  That when he comes back, he’ll love her?” Mariana demanded, angry tears filling her eyes._

_Stef couldn’t handle the last of her children - her baby - knowing there was so much darkness in the world.  Frankie was the light of their lives.  Stef had to protect her.  And she had to protect Mariana against clinging to this false hope.  She had to move on.  They all did.  And the thought of Jesus, out there, alive after all of these years, and not coming home, was almost more devastating than the alternative.  It made a fire grow in Stef’s chest, and bloom with an intensity forcing her to speak the words she never wanted to have to say.  But she thought of Brandon telling her the truth, and Stef knew the whole family needed to accept this reality._

_“He is not coming back!”_

_“You don’t_ know _that!”  Mariana exclaimed, tears rolling down her cheeks._

_“What do you think I do all day, Mariana?”she demanded._

_“Mom.  Don’t.  I’ve got her.  Okay?” Callie said.  Fourteen going on thirty, that was their Callie.  A little adult, and so protective of all her siblings._

_As Mariana wept at her back, Stef muttered, “It’s been four years,” and left the room._

_In the hall, she let herself cry.  Knowing Callie wouldn’t take to being tucked in if Stef was still wound up, and Brandon wouldn’t care one way or another.  She would give them time to relax and give herself time to calm down._

_Besides, she had one more stop to make before she got to Callie or Brandon._

_She crept into Jesus’s room and closed the door.  Sitting on his bed, she cuddled his stuffed dragon, burying her face in its fur._

_“I miss you, sweet knucklehead…” she whispered to the empty air.  “Good night.  Mom loves you.  Remember, I love you.”_


	6. Chapter 6

**NOW**

**Tuesday, October 14, 2014**

**Home: 3 years**

People think it gets easier.  That once you’re home, everything’s normal and you’re okay.  And it’s not.  It’s not like that.  

Ever since Jesus opened the letter, he can’t shake the memories that come flooding back.  Why the hell did he have to pick today of all days to open it?  Anniversary dates sucked anyway, and this one made him feel especially tender.  So many memories attached, not all of them good.  Almost none of them good.

So instead of it being a day when Jesus thought about finally feeling safe, it was a day he thought of emotional numbness, skyrocketing anxiety, and so much fear.

He shoves the letter to the bottom of his backpack, knowing that even without a door, his room is respected as the private space it is.  Still, Frankie doesn’t always get that.  She’s working on knocking before she comes into a room, and understanding that nobody except Jesus himself can be in his room for it to keep that safe feeling.

It’s getting later.  He doesn’t have the stamina to think about any of the homework he has.  For Mariana and the rest of his sibs, homework is their top responsibility, but for him it’s different.  For Jesus, his top obligation is to honor his feelings and take care of himself mentally.  Especially around anniversary time.  

Because it doesn’t just end today.  Coming home was kinda like its own trauma for a lot of reasons.  It shouldn’t have been.  Jesus wanted to be able to just feel that safety he heard people talk about.  And he did.  But it hadn’t come right away.  It hadn’t come without some serious work.

He walks past the table outside his bedroom and opens the little drawer.  Snags a few granola bars and a tiny bottle of water.  He sticks everything in his pockets and heads out the front door to hang out on the swing and wait for Moms.

Every night, after Frankie was in bed, they made sure to talk.  Jesus likes it out here because he can breathe, but it’s still kinda private.  He doesn’t have to worry about Brandon, who has the worst habit of just wandering through a room as Jesus is in the middle of laying out his worst stuff for Moms.  Brandon is always like, “I was just going to…I don’t know…” and it’s like, come on, dude.  Privacy means something.  It always took forever after that for Jesus to feel okay sharing again.  That’s why they started hanging out here instead.  Yeah, he has to deal with their faces in the window staring out, but they can’t hear the stuff being said, and that’s most important.  And they know not to interrupt unless it’s an emergency.

Mom comes out first.  

“Hey, bud.”  

She looks him up and down, checking on him in the porch light.  Her eyes stop at the bulging pocket of his shirt.  His hands clutch reflexively over his stash making the wrappers crinkle.  

“We can go back inside whenever you want, okay?  We’ll go together.  You’ll always have food here, and water, too.”

“I know,” he nods, swallowing.  “…Is it okay that I need to bring it anyway?”

“Whatever you need to feel safe is okay,” Mom reassures him.  “May I sit down?” she asks formally.  He loves that she waits.

“Sure,” he pats the swing on one side, just as Mama comes out, an apology and a story on her lips.

Instead, she asks to sit, too, knowing that talking about any of the other kids right now will make Jesus’s guilt gut turn major.  To get a half hour of uninterrupted Moms Time is big.  Especially in a house where five other people need them, too.  He knows they prioritize him.  He knows he needs them to.  But it doesn’t stop him from feeling bad.  He sort of wishes he could clone Moms so that everybody could have a set when they needed them.

But then Jesus goes still, thinking about that more deeply than he maybe should.  Moms are people, and people don’t exist to serve other people.  He shakes his head.

“What are you thinking about?” Mama asks lightly, gently.

“Cloning you…?” he admits, his ears burning.  He looks at his lap.

“Yeah?” Mama asks.

“Like Dolly the Sheep?” Mom wonders.

“What?” Jesus asks.  “Is that, like, an old people thing?”

“Okay, ouch,” Mama laughs.  “But seriously.  Is there anything you need from us?”

Face cloths.  A haircut.  Enough of them to go around.

“Just because you say it in your head doesn’t mean you’re saying it out loud,” Mom prompts softly.

“Face cloths,” he admits.

“Talk to me about face cloths,” Mom invites.  “Do you need a different brand entirely?  Just a different scent?”

“Different everything,” he admits, shrugging.

“Can you tell me…  Are there any other brands that trigger you, or is it just this one?”

“Just this.”

“Okay.  I’ll get you new ones tomorrow.  I just wanted to discuss it with you first, to be sure I got a kind you could tolerate.”

He nods once.  “Thank you.”

“And I did schedule an appointment for you to get your hair cut.  We’ll go tomorrow,” Mama adds.

“Thanks.”  Wow.  He hadn’t even had to say that out loud.  She just knew.  Just remembered from earlier tonight.  He looks her in the eyes.  “I really appreciate that.”

“Of course, honey.  That’s what we’re here for,” Mama reassures.

He holds Mama’s gaze an extra second and then looks at Mom.  Carefully, he reaches behind them both, to wrap an arm around their shoulders, holding them close.  They’re relaxed.  At ease.  Jesus, though,  holds his breath, like the whole thing might blow up if he moves an inch.  He wants it to stay like this.  He wants to tell them so much.

“I don’t think you’re sheep,” he admits, looking up at the night sky with them.  “I just meant I wish there were enough of you, you know, to go around…so everybody could have you the way I do.”

“They do have us, love,” Mom says, soft and sure.  “You all have us.”

“I’m really glad to be home,” he says.  (I love you.)

“We’re so glad to have you back,” Mama echoes, understanding.

“Even like this?” he asks.  He knows he’s changed.

“Just like this,” Mom says firmly.  “Because you’re our son.  Ever since we first met you and Mariana, you’ve been family to us.”

“We were five,” he remembers.  “And kinda bad…”

“You were doing what worked in the past,” Mama reminded.  “What helped you survive.  When you felt safe here, you understood that you could behave and nothing would happen to you.  Right?”

“Right, yeah.” Jesus nods.  “That same thing happened again.  Sometimes it still does.  Sometimes I do what I did Then because I don’t feel safe.  Sometimes it’s on purpose and sometimes it’s not.  I used to do it a lot when I first came home, remember?”

“We understand you’re coping.  Do you know you’re not bad?” Mom asks.  Jesus likes that.  How she’s straight with him.  He doesn’t have to guess.

“I guess…sometimes…” he admits.

“Can you look at me, please?” she asks.

(Asks.  He never asked.  Just grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.)

Jesus does, cautiously.

“Can I hold your face between my hands?” Mom raises her eyebrows, but waits.

He laughs, nervous.  “Okay?” he asks.  “For what?”

“Because I need to connect with you right now.  I need what I’m saying to make it all the way to your heart.  To do that, it helps to engage a lot of our senses.  To be present.”

“Okay,” he consents.  “You can.”

Even though he hates the feeling at first, Jesus hangs in there.  Tries to keep breathing and looking at Mom in the eyes.  

“You’re in control.  If this ever doesn’t feel safe, tell me, and we’ll stop.”

He nods in acknowledgement and her hands stay on either side of his face.

“You are not bad.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  Not when you were little and not later.  Okay?  We can only act in the way we think is best with what we know at the time.  You survived. That means you did everything right.  Okay?”

He swallows and blinks back tears.  “Time,” he says.  (Short for “time out” and so much easier to say than “no” or “stop.”)

Just like she promised, Mom lets go.

His breathing is ragged.  He wonders if it’s a panic attack but then he realizes: he’s crying.

“I need…a hug…” he manages, staring at the sidewalk under his shoes.

Their arms come around him.  They hold him.  He can tell they’re crying, too, and instead of feeling guilty, he feels heard.  Like they get how deep this is.  How hard.  To accept real truth, when he’s been fed lies and pain and abuse instead.

He doesn’t mention the letter.  


	7. Chapter 7

Mariana hears the front door close and waits five seconds before she stands up and slowly makes her way to Moms’ room.  Her own is unusable because Frankie goes to bed at 7:15, which means she and Callie have to find somewhere else to do homework or just hang out.  She doesn’t mind sharing a room.  Actually prefers it.  It’s way better than the aching loneliness she felt before Callie came and before Frankie was born.

Her sisters filled a gap in her life.  She still missed Jesus terribly, but she was able to look forward to things, and she felt needed.

On the way down the hall, she sees him.  They make eye contact.  She raises her eyebrows slightly and she sees it, the way his eyes go from shining with grief to dull and distant.  She gets it’s necessary for him.  But it still feels like a slight.

They used to tell each other everything.  Now it seems like he tells Moms everything.  Or his therapist.  Anyone but her.

Mariana tails Mama into their bedroom and closes the door, leaning against it.

“How’s Jesus?” she asks.

“He’s fine,” Mama answers.  She’s in the laundry room, just off their bedroom.  Mariana goes, too, and takes the full basket from her hands.  Dumps it on the bed and starts to fold.

Jesus isn’t fine.  Obviously.  None of them are fine.  Least of all Jesus.  But it’s Mama’s way of respecting his privacy.  Mariana just wants to feel close to him again.  But it’s like he can’t even look her in the eyes anymore.  She gets it, but she wishes…  Oh, she wishes…

“You know how you and Mom always talk to him?” Mariana asks, keeping her tone light.  “Did you ever think of talking to us?”

Mama blinks, trying to keep up.  She says,  “I’m listening.”

“Well, it’s not just an anniversary for him…” Mariana ventures quietly.  Just talking about it brings all those feelings back.  That shock.  That moment of, no, then yes, then oh my God…

“Right, but after the first year, he told us he didn’t want a big deal made about today.  No celebration.  No big dinner.  He just wanted a normal day.”

“I know…I’m just saying…” she says, folding a pair of Jude’s socks.  “Even on a normal day, would you check in with me?”

Mama sighs.  “Mariana, we don’t love Jesus more than you.  We sit down with him each day because he needs us to.  He can’t come to us on his own yet.  We don’t sit down with you because we know you’ll come to us if you need us.”

She widens her eyes and spreads her arms, like, hello?  But Mama is distracted because she found purple crayon melted all over an entire load of jeans.

“Francesca Rose,” Mama tsks under her breath, even though it was Mariana who did the wash this week, and forgot to check Frankie’s pockets for toys, crayons, and gum.

Mariana ducks out of the room before Mama can make the connection, and past Mom who is doing work on the computer in the kitchen.  She pokes her head in their room once, long enough to find Callie with a giant piece of canvas and safety pins spread all over, quietly working on her senior project, while Frankie is sprawled out sleeping in Mariana’s bed.  (She has her own, but calls Mariana’s bed “the princess bed” because she has “the best sleeps” in it.)  Mariana wishes the princess bed worked the same for her.  She can’t remember the last time she had a best sleep in it.

“Need help?” Mariana whispers.

“No, thanks, I got it.” Callie says softly, sending her a smile.  (Speaking  of private people - ahem Jesus - Callie also is super intense about having her own stuff.  She hasn’t even told Moms about her senior project yet, and no one in the house even knows what it is.  She says we’ll see.)

Instead, Mariana heads for the boys’ room and knocks on  the door.

“Enter,” Jude calls.

She does, and sprawls out on Jude’s bed.  (Brandon’s on the other side of their man-made divide, wearing headphones and blocking out the world.)  She peeks at him through the shelving with stacks of books.  She sees his poster of Gandalf hanging on the wall, and his face lit by the screen of his laptop.

“Callie’s working on her senior project,” Mariana says, pitching her voice loud on purpose so Brandon can hear.

“So?”  He looks at her in that maddening way.  Like he’s so much better than her, and it’s a big pain for him to mingle with average people.  (Clearly, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about: Mariana Foster is not average, she is brilliant, thank you very much.)

“So, what are  _you_  doing?” she demands.

Jude looks on, interested.

“Failing,” Brandon says flatly.

“Nice.  You know the only one Moms are going to allow to live with them forever is Jesus, don’t you?”

“So, I’ll live with my dad,” he crosses his arms and turns his back on them.

“Some life goals…” Mariana scoffs.  She turns to Jude:  “Please tell me you’re not going to let him rub off on you…”

Jude shrugs.  “Yolo….”

“Seriously?  Yolo’s not a reason to slack…”

“Yeah, but it’s a choice not to live stressed out.  Have you  _met_  Callie?  There’s a reason she’s already half done with her project.”  

“What are you working on?”

“I have to write my autobiography… I don’t really feel comfortable sharing everything that’s ever happened in my life with a teacher I’ve only known a month.  He’ll basically be grading my life story…”

“No, he’ll be grading how well you  _write_  your life story.  And he won’t know if you leave things out.  Just share what you’re comfortable sharing.”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll suspect a gap when I go from being born to almost eight in no time,” Jude ventures.

“So what?  It’s not his business.  Your story is yours.  You tell it to who you want when you’re ready.”

Jude smiles a tiny smile, no doubt recognizing her words from years of family therapy with Dr. Hitchens.  He takes a deep breath, glancing at Mariana and then away just as quickly.  “Do you feel weird this week?”

“Yeah,” she admits.  “You?”

“So weird.  Sad and freaked out and happy all mixed together. And it’s like…Moms are so busy…”

“I know,” she sighs.

“And, like, I get why they’re with Jesus all the time, but I think he kinda gets away with too much…”

“We don’t know what happened to him,” Mariana says, coming to Jesus’s defense now.  (Always.)

“Right but if any of us threw a fit about face cloths, Moms would tell us to get over it and use the ones we had…”

“He’s not throwing a fit,” Mariana insists.

“Fine.  Whatever.  I just thought you were on my side,” Jude mutters.

“I think it’s like…think about the worst thing that happened to you after your mom died and your dad went to jail in the year before you came here.”

Jude’s eyes cloud.  He is.

“Now imagine that thing happened to you every day for four times as long…and then when you got home, here with us, you saw some little detail from then.  From when you were so hurt or scared or alone or whatever.  You might be fine about it.  But it might get to you.  Him telling Moms he needs new face cloths is like when I was six and one of my outlets in my room was sparking.  I went and told Moms there was a fire in my room.  They came and put it out.  They were keeping me safe, you know?”

“Dr. Hitchens again?” Jude guesses.

Mariana shakes her head.  “No.  Mama.”

“So…he’s not throwing a fit, he’s telling them he’s feeling in danger,” Jude says, the pieces clicking.  “But how come he never talks about it to us?”

“Why do any of us keep the hard stuff quiet?  Because it’s hard.  Right?  Jesus and I never talked about our life before we came to Brandon,” she says lowering her voice.  “He wouldn’t get it.  But we could talk to Moms sometimes because it was their job to keep us safe.”

“It’s hard to feel mad at Jesus…even if I have every right to…” Jude ventures.  

Mariana stays quiet.

“I wish they’d just ask, you know?  How am I doing?  And then just hang out and wait for as long as it took for me to answer.”

Mariana rests her chin in her hand.  If she can’t get it for herself maybe she can be it for someone else.   She takes a breath:

“So…how are you doing?”

Their eyes meet.

And she waits for him to speak.

Later that night, she’s trying to sleep, but Frankie is the loudest breather in the world so Mariana’s counting down the hours until she can put this day behind her.  Only one more.

The crash down the hall comes, and then, Jesus’s ragged breathing.  She can hear him talking but can’t make out what he’s saying.  This is the worst part now.  Him being hurt or scared, and them not being able to help.

Frankie startles awake and Mariana’s there, wrapped around her, to offer comfort and hopefully, keep her from crying.  Mari doesn’t know much about what happened to Jesus but she does know he absolutely can’t do crying kids.  It ramps everything up.

“Ssh,” she soothes, as Frankie’s face crumbles.  She buries it in Mariana’s shoulder.  “Your buddy’s just scared, right?”

“Yeah…” Frankie offers in a wobbly voice.  “But he’s scaring  _me_ …”

“How about a song?” Mariana offers.  “But you have to listen so you can hear us.”

Callie’s awake.  She never sleeps through this.

Frankie’s already quieter, but clinging to Mariana as she asks, “Callie, will you play your ka-tar?”

“Yeah, of course,” Callie nods picking up the instrument Brandon gave her once upon a time.  

“Say it,” Frankie prompts sadly.  “You have to say it goes out to me.”

“This one goes out to Frankie Adams Foster,” Callie calls softly.  

“What should we sing?” Mariana whispers.

“The beautiful song.” Frankie’s still a little shaky, but Mariana smiles and holds her close as Callie starts to sing at the chorus, knowing that’s the part Frankie likes the best. Mariana comes in a bit later, harmonizing, which Frankie thinks is the “best trick ever.”

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else.  The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed.  But when you smile at the ground it ain’t hard to tell.  You don’t know oh oh…  You don’t know you’re beautiful…”

Mariana keeps singing, her arms wrapped around Frankie, hoping the sound will carry down the hall to Jesus, to let him know he’s home and safe.  

She can still hear him.

So, Mariana hopes it’s mutual.


	8. Chapter 8

_**THEN** _

_**Friday, October 21, 2011** _

_**Home:  1 week** _

_The quiet was so loud it hurt Jesus’s ears. He needed it loud.  He needed something blasting.  Music or TV or both.  He needed it to feel normal.  Quiet meant Something was coming.  Something really bad._

_When they were all gone it felt like Something Bad was coming because it wasn’t even like normal quiet, it was creepy quiet.  Jesus couldn’t relax._

_Things were all messed up now.  It was just him and Moms.  Two against one. They took time off work and everything.  (He only did that when He was gonna get another kid, or…)  The edges of Jesus’s mind went blurry.  He Level 1 blanked out just to stop obsessing about what it all meant, but it didn’t work all the way.  Jesus was still thinking:_

_What were they gonna do to him?_

_That first night, they came into his room, told him to get in bed, and pulled the blankets over him. Jesus stayed so still.  He didn’t move or talk or breathe.  Jesus knew all about this.  Knew what would happen next.  He watched Mom’s mouth move, his eyes never moving from the waist of her uniform: he was looking for handcuffs.  For her gun._

_When they came at him, he blanked out to Level 2: Cookie Land.  He got lost in thinking about the Facebook game.  The cookies, the wafers, the chocolate and even the evil caramel that took over everything.  He was winning all the levels.  He was eating all the food._

_When he blinked again, it was dark, Moms were gone, and the door was closed._

_He checked to see if he could move still.  His arms worked.  So Mom didn’t use her handcuffs…  But it wasn’t great news because Jesus knew better than anybody - you didn’t need chains to be trapped._

_Jesus stayed awake, crouching in the corner of the room.  Near the door but not really, so that he could get out as quick as it opened._

_But it never opened.  He fell asleep waiting._

_When he woke up again he had to pee, and it was still dark.  He didn’t know what the rules were here.  It had been so long.  He forgot being little in this house.  Forgot whatever Moms said or did that made it feel safe.  Maybe it never did.  Maybe he just made it all up to deal._

_He kicked at the door, but that made his heart almost beat out of his chest. He just wanted them to come and open it.  So he would know it was okay to come out.  If he couldn’t hold it, this was gonna be so bad._

_In the dark, he could just make out the outline of the trash can sitting by the desk.  He grabbed it and used it, feeling that Huge feeling climb inside him.  This trash can was tiny.  No way it would last.  But it was either this or nothing, and Jesus wasn’t used to being allowed to drink this much._

_Now he got it.  Probably a trick to make this exact thing happen and teach him a lesson._

_When they came to let him out, Jesus was back in bed, just like they left him the night before.  He wanted them to know he had been good.  That he hadn’t moved, except what  he had to do to avoid a mess._

_“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mom called opening the door._

_“Morning,” he responded quietly, staring at the ceiling.  He didn’t want to see her face._

_“Come with me to the kitchen, okay?  Mama’s making pancakes.”  If she knew about the trash can, it didn’t show in her voice.  Maybe she was waiting until later or when he wasn’t expecting it.  She didn’t know he was always expecting it.  That he never thought any moment was the worst because it could always get more terrible._

_Jesus walked beside her but didn’t touch.  He blanked out Level 1 to make sure it didn’t show: how much he wanted a damn pancake._

_Cookie Land was there if he needed it, but Jesus couldn’t go in there.  He had to pay attention.  They were in the kitchen.  Both of them.  He went to his chair at the table and stood behind it.  Moms were already sitting._

_“Sorry I didn’t help,” he apologized.  “I’ll clean up.”_

_“You don’t have to do that, love.  Sit down,” Mom invited._

_Jesus didn’t move.  He could stand perfectly still for hours.  He had done it before._

_Mom and Mama exchanged a look.  Jesus didn’t know what it meant.  His eyes were fixed on the wall across from him._

_Then Mama was there in front of him, sitting and holding both his hands.  It brought him back and made him scared.  He hoped his stomach wouldn’t growl._

_“Jesus,” she said, “We’d like you to sit at the table and eat with us.  Can you do that?”_

_He blinked.  Sat.  He was a pro at following directions.  If he hadn’t been, no way he would have made it back home._

_Jesus didn’t make a move for the pancakes so Mama gave him two and said he could have more if he wanted. She put butter and syrup down next to his plate, but he didn’t touch them.  If they weren’t on the food when it was on his plate, they weren’t for him.  He rolled one pancake dry and shoved it in his mouth._

_Then the next._

_Mom poured him some orange juice and set it in front of him, nodding permission.  He drank it in one gulp._

_He was done, so he got up and started cleaning, but they stopped him.  Mom said they had to talk to him, but he wasn’t in trouble, so don’t worry.  What other kind of talk was there though?  Maybe they didn’t mean talk at all…  Maybe they meant Something Else._

_They sat on the couch and invited him to sit, too.  Jesus sat on the floor and waited.  He looked calm, but his heart was beating like crazy.  What_ was _this?_

_Mom cleared her throat.  She talked about a schedule on the wall and how it would help Jesus know what to expect.  She said it would be the same every day.  There was no TV on it.  No video games.  (No Cookie Land!)  No going anywhere.  Just meals (three every day, plus two snacks), therapy Monday through Friday, time outside together, time for resting.  There was Family Game, which made Jesus nervous._

_(“I don’t like games.”  He said it in his head loud and clear, but he knew better than to say he didn’t like something they made.)_

_Mama went over Expectations._

_They were:_

_**No violence.**  _

_(By kids or adults or what?  What counted as violence?  Could there be an exception for if he needed a weapon to protect himself?  What if he did the opposite of the expectation?  Could they pull his hair?  Could they call him a dumbass because that wouldn’t even leave a mark?)_

_**No inappropriate language.** _

_(What if he didn’t know what else to call it?  What if he got really mad and some language slipped out accidentally?  Would they beat him up, or would they like it and do Something to him?)_

_**Your body belongs to you.  No one can touch you without asking you first, and hearing “yes.”** _

_(Not Jesus’s body.  It belonged to Him.  But they didn’t know that.  Maybe Jesus would have to tell them.  But Those Words never would come out.  So…  What was he gonna do? How could he tell them he wasn’t allowed to say no?)_

_**Closed doors (bedrooms and bathrooms) mean privacy.  Knock first and wait to hear “Come in” before opening a door.** _

_(What if you were on the inside?  What did you have to say to get out?  What did you have to do?)_

_“Jesus, honey, do you have any questions?” Mama pressed gently.  “Does all of this make sense?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_(No.)_


	9. Chapter 9

_**THEN** _

_**Friday, October 28, 2011** _

_**Home: 2 weeks** _

_So far, the schedule was real._

_They left it up, so Jesus could see it and followed it perfectly.  Three meals and two snacks was definitely his favorite part.  But Jesus couldn’t stand the expectations and how not clear they were.  He couldn’t ask questions.  And they kept doing weird stuff, like saying his old name a lot._

_It was annoying._

_Therapy was to help him deal, but so far it was making everything worse.  The only good thing was Dr. Hitchens said Jesus was in charge.  It was real, not a trick.  That meant if he wanted Moms there, they came, and if he didn’t, they had to stay out.  He chose what they did first.  He chose where to sit.  He chose to talk or draw or write.  He chose not to talk or draw or write._

_He was starting to trust the doctor.  A little._

_“Jesus?”_

_With Moms two to one like this, he Level 1’d just to be safe.  Kept staring straight ahead.  This was definitely a trick.  He knew better than to fall for it.  He’d learned a long time ago to never even seem like he cared if somebody called that name around him._

_It was Mom or Mama or Him._

_It didn’t matter._

_This was so hard.  They kept closing his door at night.  It wasn’t fair.  The therapist tried to talk to him about what he was doing.  If he felt safe using the bathroom.  But it wasn’t that, it was the stupid door._

_He thought about the things he was learning in therapy.  The one place he was in total control.  How the doctor taught him to start important sentences - maybe sentences about That - with the words, “I need…”_

_But he wasn’t supposed to need anything.  He was a warm body.  That was it._

_“Honey, are you okay?”_

_He blinked.  Mama._

_He swallowed once._

_“Can I help?”_

_Jesus’s throat burned.  His nose. He shrugged.  Clutched his stupid toy dragon by the neck._

_Mama stayed, patient.  For a whole minute she didn’t speak._

_“Can you show me?”_

_Slowly Jesus unfolded himself from his place on the living room floor and walked upstairs and down the hall.  He stopped in front of his room.  He eyed the closed door warily._

_“Something in your room?” she tried gently._

_He kicked at the door, barely grazing it with a foot.  Then lashed out, kicking and punching.  Yelling.  Screaming.  It was so loud, it felt better.  It felt so much better and so scary._

_“Hey, hey, hey!  What did that door ever do to you?” Mom asked lightly, coming down the hall when she heard all the noise._

_“Is it the door, Jesus?”  Mama asked, and Jesus’s legs went weak._

_She knew._

_He slid down and all the way to the floor._

_“Talk to me about the door, my baby,” Mom encouraged, and Jesus stared at the floor.  “How do you need it to be different?”_

_“I can’t get out,” he managed, his voice hoarse.  There were tears on his face.  “It’s closed and I can’t.”_

_“When the door is closed, you feel trapped?” Mom asked._

_Jesus shrugged.  It was as close as he could get to yes._

_“If the door is open, how do you feel?” Mom wondered._

_“Bad,” he managed._

_Mama was hanging back, quiet. Jesus liked it better just one at a time._

_“Okay.  You’re doing great.  I am so proud of you for talking to me.  Can you tell me please…  In an ideal situation…”_

_Jesus cocked his head, just a little, still focused on the floor._

_“If you could have things just how you needed them, and didn’t have to worry about anything happening to you, what would you need to happen to the door?”_

_“Real or fake?” he asked softly._

_“I’m sorry?” Mom said, confused._

_“If I_ say _, then what?”_

_“What do you need to have happen?” she asked.  It was like she was repeating herself and really listening all at once._

_“Slowly,” he said, because he couldn’t think of how to say what he meant.  He just knew everything here felt too fast, and fast made him nervous._

_Mom thought about that and then she said, “If you tell me what you want to happen to the door, Mama and I would listen to you.  If it’s something we can help with, we’ll talk about how together, and go step by step.  Okay?”_

_Jesus nodded but he still couldn’t think of the words.  They’d get almost out of his mouth and then get all jammed up.  He met Mama’s eyes for one second.  She saw._

_“I need…” she prompted gently.  (It was like she knew he was about to lose it and gave him the words, because she knew it would help.  Weird.)_

_“I need….it gone…but not…you know?” he asked._

_“Do you have an idea of what you need?” Mama tried again._

_Jesus jumped to his feet and walked across the hall, hovering outside Brandon and Jude’s room.  The door wasn’t closed, but he still wasn’t comfortable.  If he wasn’t home, he wouldn’t want them going in his room. Had they?  He hoped not._

_“In the other doorway,” he pointed inside, where beads hung to separate a small alcove with an ancient keyboard inside from the rest of the room._

_“So you need beads instead of a door, yes?” Mom clarified._

_Jesus shrugged.  “I guess? … Is it still the ideal thing?  Nothing will happen?”_

_“Nothing will happen,” Mom promised in her cop voice.  It made him feel safer than her soft one.  It meant she would protect him.  “Mama and I want this house to always function like an ideal situation for you.  We want to make it the most comfortable.  We want you to feel safe here.  So if you think of anything that might help,  we always want to hear those ideas.  We won’t act on anything until we all agree, but we always want to know.”_

_Jesus traced the grain of the wood floor with his toe.  “So, can we do the thing to the door now?”_

_“We sure can.  Are you ready?” Mom asked._

_Jesus said he was, but it turned out, he didn’t like the tools or the noise they made.  So he and Mama had lunch on the patio out back.  Now, she knew to put stuff on his plate if she wanted him to eat.  And he was trying to eat slower, but it didn’t always work._

_“Can I ideal-situation my room?” Jesus asked.  He was done eating way before Mama._

_“Absolutely.  It’s yours.  We want you comfortable there.” Mama said, but there was sadness around her mouth._

_“…Or we can leave it.  We can leave it,” Jesus nodded, more firmly now.  The last thing he wanted to do was to make Moms sad._

_“I like it,” Jesus tried.  His brain was swerving from panic to gross-gratitude at top speed.  He needed to fix this.  To smooth it over.  He needed this to work.  He didn’t have anywhere else to go if they didn’t want him._

_“Really, you can do anything you want to the room.”_

_(To me.)_

_Jesus was all about keeping the peace.  He could do whatever.  He jumped up from the chair and started clearing the table of his place.  Of any evidence that he had been there at all.  He was so focused on what he was doing, Mama’s voice made him drop everything._

_She’d said_ just _like the start of_ just wait _._

_But he’d heard: “_ Josh _.”_

_The glass shattered.  The plate broke into three pieces._

_He froze for a second and then ran for the broom.  He didn’t even see Mom coming.  He just plowed right into her.  He vaguely heard her say something about picking up._

_The blood was rushing in his ears, that was Level 3.  No fun cookie game, just panic so strong he might be dead from it._

_Then, he was in her arms.  Then in a chair just him.  It didn’t hurt yet but he was far away in his head for when it did._

_There was blood._

_Oh.  He had skidded right through the glass to go get the broom._

_He should tell them it was no big deal, but Level 3 meant nothing worked like a human.  Everything just worked like automatic.  He hoped they’d give directions, so he’d know what to do._

_Lena had her phone out and he closed his eyes.  Not now please not now not now not now not now._

_Stef was talking, but he couldn’t hear anything.  She bent down with some stuff in her hands.  Got on her knees in front of him and put her hands on his feet.  Jesus couldn’t feel anything below the waist.  Couldn’t hear any of her words.  Just blood rushing Level 3 automatic nothing._

_Jesus thought, if he ever got home, he wouldn’t have to disappear anymore._

_But he was wrong._

_Dr. Hitchens came, and she sounded so far away.  Jesus wished he was in her office but he messed up too bad and now He was probably breaking out of jail to come and kill him.  It was what He always said would happen._

_Jesus would either die now or later._

_The next thing he knew, Dr. Hitchens was with him still on the patio.  Time had passed, though, because the sun looked different in the sky.  All the broken pieces were picked up.  Mom and Mama weren’t there anymore._

_“Jesus, do you know where you are?”_

Did _he?_

_“You’re outside on the patio at your moms’ house.  You’re safe.  Everything is okay.”_

_“Did they leave?” he asked in a flat voice._

_“No.  They’re just inside.  Would you like them to come back?”_

_“They don’t want me.”  Jesus felt sure of it._

_“What happened make you feel that way?”_

_“He’s gonna break out of jail now.  Come and kill me.  He said.  If they don’t want me, He can do it even easier.”_

_“Can you look at my face?  At my eyes?”  She waited.  (She was pretty good at waiting.  Not as good as Jesus, but pretty good.)_

_He did._

_“You are not There.  He is in jail.  He cannot hurt you.  You’re safe here.  Your moms are inside because they want you to feel in control of what happens to you, and not overwhelmed.  Does that make sense?”_

_Everything sharpened up and the rushing stopped totally.  He was here.  He could trust Dr. Hitchens.  If she_   _was here, it was like her office.  So he really was okay._

_“It makes sense,” he said.  Not yes.  But it meant the same thing._

_“Can you tell me what happened today to make you feel like your moms don’t want you?”_

_“Insulted Lena,” he mumbled.  Jesus had to look away when he said that.  It was too terrible._

_“How so?”_

_“I told her I wanted the room different and she looked sad…” Jesus admitted, biting his lip._

_“So, you wanted your room changed somehow, and you saw that you may have hurt your mother’s feelings?  And that makes you feel that your parents no longer want you?”_

_“Right,” Jesus nodded, swallowing._

_“That sounds like it would feel scary.”_

_“Can we be done?  I don’t want to talk about Moms anymore.”_

_“I understand.  Can I ask you a question about Mariana?  Would that be okay?” Dr. Hitchens wondered._

_“You can,” he nodded, relaxing._

_No matter what happened, Jesus had always believed in Mariana.  Even when he told himself Moms and Brandon weren’t real and never happened when things were really bad Then, he always knew Mariana was real._

_“Did Mariana ever want something to be different?  Maybe a haircut your mothers didn’t want her to get or a toy?”_

_“I can’t remember,” Jesus admitted._

_“Would you like to ask her?” Dr. Hitchens raised her eyebrows._

_“I can’t.  They’re gone.”_

_“We can call her.  I can bring my chair beside yours before I take my phone out.  You’ll be able to see me text your moms first and then we’ll call her together.”_

_“Okay.”_

_Minutes later, Mariana’s phone was ringing, and Jesus’s heart was pounding in anticipation._

_“Hello?”_

_“Mariana, this is Doctor Hitchens.  I have Jesus here with me.”_

_“Hey, Jesus…” Mariana greeted gently.  He hadn’t talked to any of them since last week.  He wasn’t surprised she seemed unsure._

_“Hey,” he offered softly._

_“Jesus and I were speaking just now, and we had a question for you.”_

_“Sure, yeah.”_

_Dr. Hitchens nodded at Jesus, encouraging.  It still felt weird to talk to his sister.  They shared everything.  But they didn’t share this.  He wasn’t sure how to connect with her now that there was so much they didn’t have in common._

_“Um…  Did you ever want something to be different? I don’t know, like, in your room or whatever…and Mama got sad about it?”_

_“Oh gosh, yeah.  A couple years ago, I was so over the Disney princess thing and Mama was so sad.”  Mariana sounded light.  Happy.  Here.  Sometimes it still felt like a dream to hear her voice._

_“Did she still want you?” Jesus asked, his own voice full of hope and fear._

_Mariana’s tone softened.  “Yeah, she still wanted me.  I think it was like guaranteeing she did want me and not the opposite.  When we’re little…I don’t know…we need them, I guess.  And when we grow up, we might start pulling away more.  She told me she wanted me to be her baby forever.”_

_“Do you think it’s the same for me?” he asked._

_“Pretty positive.  She just got you back.  It’s hard knowing you had to grow up without us.  Harder for her and Mom.  They just want you to keep being their little boy, I think.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“You should ask them.  They won’t be mad.  They love talking to us.  Promise.”_

_“Okay…  How do you_ know _all this?” he asked.  He knew Mariana was smart, but this was a lot of insight, even for her._

_“Lots of therapy…” she laughed a little, uncomfortable._

_“Seriously…So it’s not just me?”_

_“Nope.  We all need it.  So we won’t judge.  Well,_ I _won’t anyway.  I know how it is…obviously not exactly, but you know…”  She paused.  “I miss you.”_

_“I miss you, too.”  Jesus’s throat was starting to close with too many feelings so he hung up._

_Then, he asked to talk to Mama, just them.  (As long as Dr. Hitchens stayed close by where he could see her.)_

_“My feet are okay,” he offered, as she came outside._

_“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, and waited until he nodded at the chair across from him to sit down._

_“I saw you looked sad before…about the room…and I thought it meant you weren’t gonna want me anymore, because I hurt your feelings,” he admitted.  He was talking more to his lap than to her, but it was easier to get the words out if he didn’t have to look at her.  To see the proof of his mistakes reflected in her eyes.  “Did it mean that?”_

_“No.  Not one bit.  I just got you back.  I always want you.  I wanted you every single day we weren’t together.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yes,” Mama said firmly, and he believed it._

_“I thought you’d think I wasn’t happy to be back…  That I was being a jerk about where we live…”_

_“I know you love this house, bud.  I didn’t take it personally.  I promise.”_

_“Mariana said it’s ‘cause you_ do _want us that you’re sad when we want things changed, not that you_ don’t _.  Is she right?”_

_“Yes, she is,” Mama blinked, wiping her eyes.  “Don’t worry.  I’m okay.  I’m just so glad you’re okay.”_

_“You know, I still need you.”  Not a question, so she’d know how much he meant it._

_“And our family needs you.  You’re worth it to us.  So don’t give up on us.  And don’t give up on you.  There’s nothing you can do or say that would make me stop loving you.  There is nothing you could ever do that would make me stop wanting you.  I’m so glad you’re home.”_

_Those words…they felt just like I love you (which he knew to never trust) but maybe like an I love you from before Then.  Maybe like it meant what it was supposed to mean all along._

_He was starting to trust them._


	10. Chapter 10

**NOW**

**Tuesday, October 28, 2014**

**Home: 3 years, 2 weeks**

Jesus wakes up short of breath.  He seriously needs to stop dreaming about those weeks, alone in the house with Moms.  Every single night since the anniversary, he’s dreamed about it.  It’s making him feel edgy.  Like he maybe can’t trust himself.  But he  _needs_  to be able to trust himself.  And they need to be able to trust him.

A knock sounds on his doorframe: “Knock-knock!”

Jesus smiles even though he’s not in the best mood: “Who’s there?”

“Frankie!”

“Frankie who?”

“Frankie come out and have breakfast!  Hahaha!  That was a  _great_  joke, huh?”

“Yeah, it was.”  (Definitely effective. Frankie’s morning jokes always made it clear what wasn’t always the clearest: they still wanted him, he could eat, and he could come out.)  “Listen, I’ll be there in a few.  I need to shower first.”

“No, eat breakfast with me!” Frankie whines.

“I will, promise.  I just need to do this first.”

Frankie makes her way to the head of the stairs, sitting down way before she gets to the edge, to scoot down.  The fact that they’re wooden means she has a harder time keeping her balance on them.  She can walk up holding the railing, but can’t walk down without a hand to hold.

“Mama!  I didn’t go inside of Jesus’s room!” she yells.

“You are getting so good at respecting boundaries,” Mama praises from downstairs.

He ducks into the bathroom, locking both doors.  He’s glad that Mariana, Callie, Brandon and Jude are all at school.  Glad he gets to homeschool with Mama, because it works for him so much better.  None of them would be around to make a big deal of his needing to do things a certain way, or needing to play one of Brandon’s old songs he learned on piano back in the day and put on YouTube in order to keep himself grounded in right now.  

(Back Then, He never listened to classical, and He definitely wasn’t writing His own songs on piano at ten and eleven years old.  Brandon’s piano stuff was the total opposite of There.)

Jesus used the song as a timer. When it was done, so was he.  No hanging out in there until the water ran cold.  No obsessing about feeling dirty.  At least that feeling isn’t as bad as sometimes.

There’s a knock on the door by the girls’ room.  Jesus wraps a towel around himself and pauses the song.  His heartbeat picks up but he reminds himself to breathe.  There’s a four-year-old in the house, she probably just has to get in and pee.

“Yeah?”

“Jesus?  Buddy?” Frankie calls.

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me.  What’s up?”

“I’m just wondering.  Do you need me to take away more face cloths?”

“Nope, I’m good…” he reassures, relieved Mom had brought home a different brand entirely the very next day, as promised.  And he’d gotten his hair cut soon after.

“Okay.  Just checking!”

“Thanks, buddy.  It’s good to know you’ve got my back,” he says, but he’s starting to shiver.  He needs to either get back in the shower and finish or dry off.  Good thing he hears Mama’s voice just then.

“Frankie, you need to come downstairs, baby.  Let Jesus have his privacy.”  

Jesus could hear Mama leading her away, and Frankie’s little voice insisting, “I was just checking in with him!”

Smiling a little, he presses play on his phone again and finishes up.  He dresses fast, hangs up the towel and makes sure all his dirty clothes are off the floor.  Then he heads downstairs to eat.  Hopefully, he’ll be able to catch Mama and Frankie before they leave.

Jesus sits down to a heaping bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal.  Mama sets down a piece of toast with peanut butter and a glass of milk.

“Frankie thought you’d want cereal like her,” Mama apologizes.

“I love cereal,” he says seriously, digging in.  He doesn’t realize how fast he’s eating til Mama sits across from him in her chair and just looks at him.

He tries to slow down.  It doesn’t work.

“You feeling okay?” she asks.

“Yeah…I just…I didn’t want you guys to leave without me.”

“There’s no rush,” Mama reassures.  “You know I make sure you’re up in plenty of time to come with us if you want to.”

Frankie asks if they can brush their teeth together, and he agrees.  Jesus keeps her on task and she keeps him from getting stuck in his head.  

“Will you come with to drop me off?” she asks, smiling at her toothpaste beard in the mirror.

Jesus hands her a towel to wipe her face and hopes to buy some time.  He swallows.  It’s the biggest catch-22 ever.  He loves being with his little sis.  But he hates the route to school since the Pre-K Frankie attends was built right onto one end of Anchor Beach.  Twice a week she and Mama walk there.  Sometimes he’s fine, but sometimes he feels himself blanking out or wanting to do too much to protect Frankie and freaking her out.

If they drive, sometimes that’s better, but sometimes he remembers how easily he got into That Car and feels super sick.  And staying home on his own a few minutes has its own problems.  (As awful as all the abuse and crap was, the complete isolation he endured sometimes felt even worse.  Because it felt like there was no hope and nobody would ever find him.)

Today is one of days when he can just tell he’ll be a hot mess, as Mariana says, if he tries to go along.  “Sorry, I can’t today, buddy.”

It’s there in her eyes.  The hurt.  The rejection.  The hardest thing about putting himself first is knowing he has to put people he loves and what they need second.  

“No fair,” she whines.

“I know it sucks, buddy.  I’ll come another day.”

“ _You_  suck!” Frankie insists, leaving him standing alone.

Jesus follows her out into the hall, his ego stinging.  “We don’t talk like that to each other,” he warns mildly, just the way Mom and Mama told him when he first moved in and again, after he came back.  “We respect each other.”

“No!  I don’t!  I never respect you, okay?  What do you think about  _that_?” she challenges, anger and defensiveness coming off her in waves, masking how hurt she really is with attitude.

“Young lady,” Mama clears her throat, crossing her arms.  “We do not speak to our family that way.”

“I WANTED TO SHOW HIM THE PICTURE I DID AT SCHOOL!”  she screams, shocking Jesus.

“We’re going to go walk around a little, and cool off,” Mama says, taking Frankie’s hand.  She’s crying hard, and Mama’s doing her best to keep them both safe right now.  He can see that.  “Will you be alright?  Text Callie while we’re gone.  She has study hall now.”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.  You’ll be back?”  he asks, a habit.

“Yes, I’ll be right back.  I love you,” she says, pressing a kiss to his forehead when he offers it.

When Mama and Frankie leave, the house is quiet like a tomb.  His ears are still ringing.  It’s a bummer getting into it with Frankie, because she’s so little.  She doesn’t get why he has to bail sometimes.

Jesus walks back to his room and takes his backpack down to the table, dumping it out so he’s ready to get some school in himself when Mama gets back.  He wants to graduate with Mariana, which means he has to really commit to school when he’s in the right headspace.  Getting screamed at by Frankie wasn’t great, but it wasn’t the worst either.  Mama was with her.  Mama would help her calm down.  The biggest thing - the crying - had been kept to a minimum.  

On top of all his papers and books, Ethan’s letter slides out and onto the floor.  It makes Jesus feel like he might pass out again.

He bends down and picks it up gingerly.  Then he goes to his room for his laptop and opens it.

His phone buzzes:

**Callie:**

_Mama said U were home.  Everything good?_

He’s been having these nightmares every night since the anniversary, but that was also the night he opened the letter from Ethan.  Maybe if he deals with that, the nightmares will stop, once and for all.  At least the repetitive ones.  At least for now.

**From:**  [ItsHeyZeus@gmail.com](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=mailto%3AItsHeyZeus%40gmail.com&t=Y2VmZjkxOGRlMzEwMmU2ZTNmMDEwOGNkYzljNmU2NGE4NjRlZTNjZSx4eElSRktHYw%3D%3D&b=t%3Aj9SxWznDCLwQGiSAK8h3pQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fficdirectory.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F154043436317%2Fdisuphere-an-au-fosters-family-fic-chapter-9&m=1)

**To:**   [ethanm610@gmail.com](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=mailto%3Aethanm610%40gmail.com&t=OWNhYmM0MTliMmNlNzI1Mzk4OTNjNGU0ZTJlNTJkMTljMDQ1ZjJlNix4eElSRktHYw%3D%3D&b=t%3Aj9SxWznDCLwQGiSAK8h3pQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fficdirectory.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F154043436317%2Fdisuphere-an-au-fosters-family-fic-chapter-9&m=1)

**Subject:**  Its me the selfish asshole

_Ethan,_

_So I got your letter late.  Don’t really know what to say except you don’t know the first thing about what happened so you should probably just shut the hell up._

Jesus’s phone starts meowing like a cat.  (Back when he first came home and they gave him a phone, he really didn’t know Callie that well, but whenever he thought of her name, he thought of a cat, so…)  He picks it up, irritated:

“What?” he snaps.

“What are you doing?”  Her tone is measured.  Even.  She acts so much older even though, for two months out of every year, they’re actually the same age.

“None of your business.”

“Why didn’t you answer my texts?  Are you okay?” she sounds concerned, not annoyed, he realizes.

“Yeah.  I’m okay.  Mama should be back any minute.  Frankie, like, lost it though.  Do you know anything about a picture she drew at school?”

“No.  Listen, I gotta go.  Mrs. Mork is staring at me…”

“Ew.”

“Yeah.  Bye.”

“Thanks, Callie.”  He hangs up, and quickly finishes the email:

_If you ever wanna ask what really happened instead of accusing me, I’m all for that.  But don’t blame me for doing what I had to do to get myself (and you) out of that hellhole._

_Jesus_

Then, he walks to the kitchen table and grabs a notebook and a pen, scrawling a letter to Frankie that he’ll stick in the mailbox so she can find it today.  Her most favorite thing ever is bringing in the mail, and if she finds something in there for her, her entire day is made:

_Dear Frankie._

_I’m sorry._

_I love you._

_Love, Jesus_

At the bottom, he draws a picture of dancing French fries and a cheeseburger.  Her favorites.  They have smiling faces.  Jesus puts the letter out with all the others, in an envelope addressed to her and everything, and then heads back upstairs to bring his laptop down.  Schoolwork could not be done without the laptop.

Jesus stops short as he focuses on the screen:  Mail 1

He clicks on it and reads, his heart sinking:

**To:**  ItsHeyZeus@gmail.com

**From:**  ethanm@gmail.com

**Subject:**  Re: Its me the selfish asshole

_I already know what happened.  I lived it._   

Jesus closes his eyes and picks up his phone, navigating away from the email.  Time to leave a message with the doc.  He can’t talk to Moms about Ethan, but he needs to bring someone else in.  He knows he hasn’t handled this whole thing in the best way.

He hears Mama’s key turning in the lock as he gets voicemail: “Hey Dr. Hitchens, it’s Jesus.  Just leaving you a message now so I can’t change my mind and keep it to myself.  I’ve got to talk to you this week about a letter…from Ethan.  I’ll bring it when I come.  Bye.”

“Jesus, it’s Mama.  I’m back,” she calls.

He comes down the stairs, laptop in hand.

“Ready to do some work?” she asks, impressed.

“Yeah.  Ready,” he nods and follows her into the kitchen.


	11. Chapter 11

**_THEN:_ **

**_Friday, December 9, 2011_ **

**_Home:  1 month and 25 days_ **

_Lena remembered the moment with each of her kids.  The first moment they bonded physically, trusted her to be there to comfort them._

_Brandon had been five, and had crawled into bed with Lena after having a nightmare about zombies when Stef was working late._

_Mariana (also five) had bonded with Lena instantly, clinging to her the moment Stef brought them home._

_Jesus had come to her with a skinned knee when he was about six, and accepted her kiss for it._

_Callie (eleven) had fallen apart two weeks after they moved in, losing control until Lena held and soothed her._

_Jude had held off, keeping Lena and Stef at a distance until he was eight and had been home several months.  He woke up from a dream so scary he had thrashed and screamed for her in his sleep.  She fell asleep beside him, because every time she tried to leave, he reached for her._

_And Frankie was so tiny at two and a half pounds that when Lena could finally hold her, it was in a dark, completely quiet room.  She couldn’t talk to her, because the noise would stress the baby, so she just rocked and held on. Lena learned then, there were so many ways to communicate love._

_It’s why she was okay with waiting for Jesus to come to her.  Forcing closeness on him would only traumatize him more.  Being in therapy with him helped.  Usually, if he wanted anybody with him, he chose Stef.  He was comforted by her uniform, he said, but scared of her handcuffs and her gun._

_After a beyond difficult couple of months, she and Stef were finally starting to see progress:  Jesus was putting on much-needed weight, and he was getting taller.  He was also starting to be able to sleep through the night and ate at a slower pace.  They could not put a time limit on his healing, but it was such a relief to see this progress.  Though she was grateful that her parents were able to take the rest of the kids, on this emergency basis, Lena missed them so much it felt like a physical pain.  How cruel was it to get the one they’d lost back and lose the other five?  Lose her baby?  She knew where they were, yes.  And they were in touch every day, but it wasn’t the same as seeing their faces in person.  Hearing their voices.  Lena yearned for the day they would all be together again._

_Dr. Hitchens kept indicating it was close.  Lena hoped so.  She didn’t know what she would do if they had to be apart for another Christmas.  It was hard enough to be away from Jude on his birthday last month.  Lena had seen resiliency in Jesus.  He had come back from so much.  Progressed through so much.  Dealt with so much.  Setbacks were normal.  Triggers happened.  But that’s what made the good moments even greater._

_They were talking to the rest of the kids on Skype when Lena realized they had lost Jesus.  He had done okay talking to them by phone, and talking to them one at a time was okay, but all at once, and Jesus got overwhelmed.  It was no wonder he had to step away.  She had a moment of panic before she found him waiting on the couch, arms crossed over a strange bulge under his shirt._

_“Mama…” he said hesitantly.  Their Christmas tree stood, decorated with ornaments and garland, lights twinkling gently, lighting Jesus’s worried and hopeful face.  “If I show you something…and_ ask _you something…will you promise not to make fun of me?”_

_“Of course.  I love you. I don’t make fun of people.  It’s not kind.”_

_“Will you sit right here by me?” he asked, patting the couch._

_Lena smiled.  “I would love to.”  She sat and waited, wondering what he could want to share with her._

_Soon enough, she saw it:  the battered copy of Where the Wild Things Are, as Jesus pulled it out from under his shirt.  A red hooded sweatshirt that read BE PRESENT.  It was new, and if they let him, Jesus would wear the shirt every day.  He loved that it was a gift, with no strings attached.  When he could move past suspicion and accept that, he had fully embraced the shirt and the message._

_“I know it’s a kids’ book and I’m not a kid,” he started apologetically._

_“That’s okay,” Lena reassured softly.  “What did you want to ask me?”_

_Jesus glanced at her and then away.  “The book…I wanna tell you why I like it.  But I think I might start to blank out.  So I was wondering…”_

_Lena waited, forcing herself to be calm, even though everything in her wanted to know immediately what Jesus needed and how she could help.  Getting anxious would make him anxious, and anxiety often spiraled out of control for him quickly.  She could help him most right now, she knew, by taking some slow, deep breaths._

_“…You don’t, like,_ have to _if you don’t feel comfortable…”_

_Lena smiled, pleased and amused to hear him using the words and phrases he was hearing in therapy and at home, from her and Stef._

_“I mean I know I’ve acted out and I don’t deserve it…”_

_Lena could see her son’s pulse in his throat.  This was excruciating for him._

_“But you guys always say ideal-situation, you know, like we did to my room, and now I can sleep there?  And you said you always wanna know ideal-situation stuff…”_

_“I do,” Lena nodded._

_Changing his room hadn’t fixed everything, but it had gone a long way toward helping Jesus feel secure.  The door was gone, replaced by beads.  He had a mini fridge in the corner of the room.  A table stood in the hall, to the right of the doorway, with a drawer for snacks.  His laundry was placed in a basket underneath.  Stef found noise-cancelling headphones (Dr. Hitchens suggestion for when their house was full again but Jesus couldn’t deal with the unpredictability.)  He had bean bag chairs, and blankets but no bed (his choice.)   Sleeping on the floor made him feel safe.   Glow in the dark stars were on the ceiling and wall decals with positive messages.  (Her favorite read: You are stronger than you seem, braver than you believe and smarter than you think you are.”  She loved that Jesus had chosen it from Amazon himself.)_

_“Canyouholdmelikealonghug?” he asked, so rushed and quiet she could not make it out._

_“Can I what, sweetie?” she asked, knowing that not feeling understood when he was brave enough to ask for something had the potential to set him back.  “I want to help and I am listening.  I just need to hear it again.  I’m not mad.”_

_“Hold me?” he whispered into her ear.  “Like a long hug?”_

_“You need me to hold you like a long hug so you can feel safe telling me about the book.  Is that right?”_

_“Yeah, and stay here,” he said, carefully leaning against her side._

_“And stay here.  Right.  I want that, too.  Can I put my arms around your middle?”_

_He nodded, nowhere near the direct consent Lena would need to move forward.  It was a habit, she knew.  Jesus probably didn’t even realize he hadn’t spoken out loud._

_“Jesus, I need to hear you, so I know you’re not just saying what you think I want to hear,” Lena reminded in her assistant principal voice, albeit softer._

_“You can.”_

_“Okay.  If it ever doesn’t feel safe, let me know, and we’ll stop.  You say your word.  Right?  Or pull away. Or shake your head.  Any of those things.”_

_“I will,” he promised._

_Deliberately, Lena wrapped her arms around her son, and reveled in the feeling of him relaxing against her. “You do deserve this, Jesus.  You really do.” She rocked back and forth._

_He didn’t speak, but Lena knew he was listening.  She could tell by how he shifted around before settling again._

_“Do you want to tell me why you like the book now?  I’d like to hear.”_

_“Yeah?” he asked tentatively.  “I didn’t take too long?”_

_“There’s no rush, honey.  I always want to listen to you, if you still want to share.  But it’s okay if you changed your mind, too.”_

_“I like the book because I’m like Max…” Jesus ventured._

_There was silence, but Lena was learning she didn’t need to rush to fill it.  Lena saw Stef out of the corner of her eye, in the doorway of the living room.  She watched, relieved, as Stef went elsewhere in the house but close-by enough to show up fast if she was needed._

_“Because sometimes I act bad like him.  Like how all the kids had to leave because of me…and Max doesn’t get to eat and that happened to me a lot.  Do you think that’s right?”_

_“No, I don’t.” Lena answered.  “People need food no matter what.”_

_“Sometimes, I went away in my head like Max.  I called it disappearing.  I’d just think about video games and stuff.  Ones with food so I could pretend I was eating.”_

_“You’re still here with me, okay?  I’ve got you and you’re safe here.  We can get food whenever you need it.” Even if Jesus couldn’t acknowledge this, it was important Lena said it._

_“Max doesn’t think about food, he thinks about monsters and makes them do stuff when he says and not do stuff when he says.  I wish I could’ve done that.”_

_“You can always tell us if you’re not comfortable.”_

_“I know.  But not Then.  I meant Then,” he said, his voice getting louder._

_“Okay.  I misunderstood.  But I hear you now. You wanted your boundaries respected and they weren’t.  And that was wrong.”_

_He was shaking.  Did he know?_

_“I hate Him.”_

_“I agree.”_

_“I’m so glad what happened to him,” Jesus said firmly._

_“I can see that.  It makes sense.  You have every right to feel angry.  What about Max?  Do you want to share anymore about how you’re alike?_

_“He goes home but it takes a really long time.  That’s like me, too.  When he realizes he’s really home the whole time it’s good, ‘cause he gets to eat and the food’s still hot.  That’s why it’s a good book.  He doesn’t go hungry.”_

_Lena held Jesus and tried not to hold her breath.  She never wanted this moment to end.  Him wanting her close was everything she’d ever hoped for after he was rescued._

_“Sometimes, I forget I’m home and I think I’m There.  Or I think like now and Then are mixing.  That’s what happened when the kids had to go.  I acted angry and dangerous but I felt scared on the inside.  I was just trying to do the right thing.”_

_“I believe you.”_

_“So you really don’t think I’m bad?” Jesus asked._

_“I think you…” Lena said, “are amazing.  Thank you for sharing all that with me.”_

_“You can tell Mom, but not in front of me…and not the other kids.”_

_“Okay.  I’ll only tell Mom later in private, but the kids don’t need to know unless you decide to tell them.”_

_“Time?” he asked._

_Lena let go, and for the first time, got a good look at Jesus’s face.  He seemed calmer, definitely._

_“Mama?  Thank you for listening to me,” he said so honestly it almost did her in._

_“You’re welcome.”_

_A week later, Mariana rejoined them.  A couple days after her, Callie, and then Frankie, who had grown by leaps and bounds.  A couple more days and Brandon was home, and finally, just two days before Christmas, Jude came home, too._

_Armed with new tools and information, Jesus could start to heal._

_And Lena got her wish:  her whole family together for Christmas._


	12. Chapter 12

**_THEN_ **

**_Tuesday, November 11, 2008_ **

**_Missing: 1 year, 2 months and 4 days_ **

_When the new kids came, Brandon resented them on sight.  His family obviously had a terrible track record with kids, and there went Moms fostering more._

_It was like the one year anniversary flipped some kind of switch in them.  They asked the fostering agency to put their name back “on the board.”  (Brandon had no idea they were even still current on fostering stuff.)  Both Mom and Mama had become desperate to do something.  Anything._

_To help any kids out there.  (Probably because they couldn’t help Jesus.)_

_Callie and Jude seemed nice enough, but a little like an impulse purchase in the checkout lane.  It felt totally random bringing them into the house.  And Brandon was embarrassed that they would see Jesus’s picture everywhere, his bedroom frozen in time, and judge them._

_Mariana was losing her mind, whispering at him:  “They’re forgetting all about Jesus!  It’s like he was never even here!”_

_Welcome to my life, Brandon thought._

_He still remembered it.  Five years ago, Mom brought home two kids - a brother and sister - and they never left.  (Well, Jesus did, but not by choice.)  Now?  Two kids - a brother and sister - and Moms said it was temporary, but they’d said that about Mariana and Jesus, too._

_Brandon wondered, not for the first time, what it was about having just him that was so bad?_

_**Wednesday, November 12, 2008** _

_**Missing:  1 year, 2 months and 5 days** _

_The first time He ever let Josh go to a friend’s house he thought for sure he knew how it would go:  Josh would get in the house, hang out for a while, and then ask to use a phone to call home._

_Except instead of calling Him, Josh would call Mom instead.  She could bring Mike if she wanted, to be sure He couldn’t hurt or shoot Mom.  And then they’d save him and he could go back to his real home._

_It was the perfect plan except that Josh’s mouth was dry.  His hands were sweating.  His heart was racing, bad. Every time he let himself think about about actually asking to call, he felt like passing out._

_What if she thought it was just a prank?_

_What if he actually couldn’t say his old name, to prove it was really him?_

_“Josh?  Hey, it’s your turn.”  A pointy elbow jabbed him in the side.  Josh barely felt it, but stiffened up anyway.  He blinked._

_Oh right.  The video game._

_“I can’t believe your dad said you could have this game and bring it over.  My mom says it’s way too violent.”_

_Josh thought about what he’d had to do to prove he was thankful.  To prove he deserved to keep breathing, much less deserved a free gift, like the game every other kid in school was playing.  Something that would help him fit in - even though they didn’t have a gaming system.  Even though He said He didn’t think electronics were good for kids._

_It made Josh want to laugh. Instead, he said the very next thing that popped in his head and out of his mouth:_

_“He’s not my dad.”_

_The words were out of Josh’s mouth before he could think about what he was saying.  He froze._

_“So, you’re, like, adopted, or whatever, right?”_

_“Yeah…  Something like that.”_

_**Thursday, November 13, 2008** _

_**Missing: 1 year, 2 months and 6 days** _

_Brandon had spent the whole day at school making sure Callie could find the sixth grade classes.  Honestly, it didn’t seem like she needed his help for much of anything.  She was hard, and closed off, except when it came to Jude._

_“Who’s that other boy in all the pictures of your family?” she asked between classes._

_Brandon was still stuck acting like her personal assistant and not talking to Aidan about his date.  Not seeing what Aidan could find out about the pretty new girl, Talya.  Because Lena was the vice principal and she had this awful talent of knowing every bad thing any of her kids did the minute they did it._

_Brandon swallowed, wishing Callie would just stop talking.  He was so over hanging out with sixth graders.  She was gonna give him a bad rep._

_“Is he another foster kid?” she asked, clearly not caring that her questions were ruining his life._

_“Yeah.  Kinda,” Brandon admitted, blushing._

_He didn’t expect her to ask again.  But that night, Moms dropped the bomb that he and Mariana have to share their rooms with Jude and Callie._

_Even though they hadn’t said anything, their faces must have shown how they felt about it all._

_“Oh…if it’s a big deal, Jude and I can always just share that spare bedroom,” Callie said._

Here _we go…Brandon thought, as Mariana leapt to her feet, eyes flashing.  “That’s not a spare room!  It’s my brother’s!  And he’s coming back!”_

_“…I thought Brandon was your brother…” she said slowly._

_“Jesus is my_ twin _.”  Mariana said witheringly._

_“Did he do something bad?” Jude asked.  It was obviously an innocent question, but Moms weren’t prepared.  He saw tears in Lena’s eyes and how Mom’s mouth dropped open in shock.  “Did he have to leave?”_

_Mom recovered first:  “No.  Now Brandon and Mariana, upstairs.  I want to start moving Callie and Jude as soon as possible.”_

_Brandon Foster, sharing space with a seven-year-old.  Awesome._

_When the family meeting broke up, he and Mariana made a beeline for Moms.  “This is not happening…” Brandon insisted._

_“It most certainly is, and I expect the two of you to make them feel welcome.  They’re just staying with us for a few weeks, okay?”_

_**Friday, November 14, 2008** _

_**Missing: 1 year, 2 months and 1 week** _

_“So, I’m going to San Diego for Thanksgiving.  Gotta see my mom.” He said it like no big deal.  Josh blinked.  Came back from Level 1._

_Josh cocked his head to show he was listening, but not too interested._

_LA always felt so far, but when He said He was visiting His mom, Josh knew: He would be right down the street from the Fosters.  It’s what He’d been doing That Day - visiting her - and Josh was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Heart aching, Josh forced himself to shut up. To not ask the question he knew he wanted to ask so bad:_

_Can I come, too?_

_Josh knew the answer.  He would say His mom didn’t like kids._

_Swallowing, he asked, “Is she okay?”_

_(Are_ they _okay?)_

_He cleared His throat.  “No.  No, she’s not.”_

_“Sorry,” Josh managed.  And he really was.  His mom was a nice lady.  Josh had no idea how she had managed to have such a mean son._

_**Monday, November 17, 2008** _

_**Missing: 1 year, 2 months and 10 days** _

_Less than a week after Callie and Jude moved in, Jude turned eight._

_Moms were usually on top of that stuff, but they almost missed it, because neither one said anything about it._

_That meant they had to run out at the last minute and buy presents and a cake for a kid they barely knew._

_Watching Jude’s big smile as Mama lit the candles, Brandon couldn’t help but remember the twins’ eighth birthday two and a half years ago.  How Mariana cried because Jesus blew out all the candles so she didn’t get a birthday wish.  How Jesus had comforted her:_

_“We’ll do it again and this time I’ll hold my breath,” he promised, his arm around her shoulders._

_He met Mariana’s gaze as Jude blew out the candles.  Brandon saw tears shining in her eyes._

_His were watery, too._

_All that candle smoke._

_**Thursday, November 27, 2008** _

_**Missing: 1 year, 2 months and 20 days** _

_Josh could not stop crying.  The TVs were all on playing the Macy’s parade.  All his friends were eating turkey.  And mashed potatoes.  And stuffing.  And macaroni and cheese.  And pie._

_And he was here on cold cement.  A few packages of dry Ramen and a gallon of water._

_Screaming, he fought the against the damn pole.  It didn’t budge._

_Bringing his head forward, he slammed it against the pole.  Every time he thought of Him being just down the street from the Fosters, Josh died a little inside._

_It wasn’t fair._

_Was He coming back?_

_Would Josh die for real?_

_**Friday, November 30, 2008** _

_**Missing: 1 year, 2 months and 23 days** _

_“What are you doing in here?”  Brandon demanded.  Jude was lounging on Jesus’s bed like he owned it.  Jesus’s fat stuffed dragon named Ord after the one on Dragon Tales was in Jude’s hands._

_(Brandon remembered asking him why he named his dragon something so weird:  “He can turn invisible when he’s scared,” Jesus had explained, clearly impressed with the dragon skill.)_

_“Just…um…exploring…” Jude managed.  His eyes got big.  He knew he was caught._

_“This isn’t yours!” Brandon exclaimed, grabbing the toy from Jude and leaning over him.  “None of this is yours!  We_ have _a room!  Why don’t you go_ there _?!”_

_Jude cowered, covering his head but, and before Brandon could think about what that meant, Callie came rushing into the room and shoved Brandon away.  He fell on the bed._

_“Get away from him!” she screamed._

_“What is going on in here?” Mom demanded._

_“Jude was touching all Jesus’s stuff!  I told him not to and she came in like a linebacker and shoved me!”_

_“Brandon was yelling at him!” Callie insisted, holding Jude protectively, like Brandon was some wild beast._

_“Jude?” Mom asked, hands on her hips._

_His face crumbled and he sobbed, “I’m sorry!”_

_Mom reached for his hand to lead him out of Jesus’s room, but Callie was there, body blocking her._

_“Callie, we’re going to have a conversation.”_

_“You’re not going anywhere with him,” Callie’s voice had gone low and seriously intense._

_“Hey, what’s going on up here?” Lena asked.  Finally, she had come back with Mariana from therapy. Brandon hated therapy.  He was never going to go.  It was his number one life goal.  After getting Jesus back, of course._

_“I need to speak to Jude, and Callie needs to be spoken to about not putting her hands on people.” Mom said in that no-nonsense way._

_Brandon backed out of the room just before the screaming started.  Callie went wild, trying to go through Lena when she made it possible for Mom to step out with Jude._

_“What the heck?” Mariana asked, coming out of her room._

_They both stared as Callie sobbed and fought to get to Jude.  As Lena held her, talking softly, the way Brandon knew Mama did best.  They watched as it got through.  They watched as Callie finally calmed down._

_Brandon asked that night, when he found Callie in the kitchen eating cereal._

_“In our other  foster home,” she said, simply, “They used to hurt us.”_

_**Wednesday, December 24, 2008** _

_**Missing: 1 year, 3 months and 17 days** _

_Josh didn’t die then, but on December 17th, His mom did._

_Since a week before Christmas, Josh had been Down Here again.  The radio was on playing Christmas music, but Josh couldn’t even hear it.  He was freezing cold and more tired than he ever was in his whole life.  Sleeping sitting up was impossible._

_Being hungry messed with everything: his eyes were blurry and dry, his stomach ached so bad that he was bending himself in weird positions to reach every crumb he dropped, even with the chains on.  When he couldn’t reach one, it freaked him out, totally.  When that happened, he had to blank out or he would lose it.  So he Level 1’d and then something amazing happened:_

_That’s because his brain started thinking about this new Facebook game his friends at school let him play: Cookie Land._

_The real food was gone.  Nothing but wrappers.  Josh even ate the salty seasoning packets, but they made him so thirsty, he stopped._

_It had been way more days than last month and He still wasn’t back.  Josh opened his mouth for more cookies.  They were giant sized and perfect.  Was there milk in Cookie Land?_

_Keys in the lock._

_Boots on the stairs._

_Was this real?  Was he dreaming?_

_A cold, wet hand touched his face:_

_“I saw your family.  They forgot all about you.  Your sister was outside playing.  There aren’t even any posters hanging up anymore.  You know what that means…” he kicked Josh with His wet boot so he froze more._

_“Please…I need…”  (Food.  Water.  Clothes.  Blankets.  Sleep.)_

_“You don’t need anything.  You’re a warm body and nothing more.  Don’t you forget it.”  He unchained Josh and dragged him to the mattress by his hair, throwing him down on it.  “It’s your fault I’m in this mess!  If I didn’t have you, I’d have been able to spend more time with her!”_

_His breath stank like beer._

_Before the pain even started, Josh went to Cookie Land again.  It had colors.  Food.  Recipes.  If he didn’t make them right, the nice French man didn’t hurt him or make fun of him or yell.  He just said, “Please try again.”_

_It echoed in his head._

_He wasn’t making the recipes right._

_Please try again._

_Please try again._

_Please…_

_**Thursday, December 25, 2008** _

_**Missing: 1 year, 3 months and 18 days.** _

_Brandon hesitated, seeing Jesus’s stocking hung with the rest and stuffed with small presents._

_“Moms?  Should I?” he wondered.  His hand hovered near it.  As it was Brandon who played Santa and handed out gifts, it was on him to also decide how to address the Jesus-shaped elephant in the room._

_What did you do with the stocking, and the gifts, for someone who wasn’t here to receive them?_

_Last year, they had done nothing.  Mariana hid in her room.  Moms cried a lot.  Brandon poured himself into piano, making up new songs every few days.  His music teacher in seventh grade said he was super talented - that he needed to start taking piano more seriously._

_But taking piano more seriously meant more money.  And every cent they had was going toward trying to find Jesus.  And now, every cent they had was going toward Callie and Jude.  Brandon knew they got money from the state for it, and it wasn’t actually much._

_It wasn’t really that…_

_It sort of felt like Moms were putting on Christmas like a costume that didn’t fit anymore.  It was like a show.  He remembered asking last year, if they were getting a tree._

_Mom had stared at him with red eyes and said: “Do you think your brother has a tree?”_

_Why could they get it together for these kids, but not for him?_

_“Sure, of course,” Lena encouraged and he took it down with one hand - Mariana’s in the other - and handed both to her._

_Cradling Jesus’s stocking in her arms, Mariana quietly got up and left the room.  (Later, Brandon found all of Jesus’s presents laid carefully in his room.  They were still wrapped, as if she expected him to come back any minute, and open them.  Mariana had returned the empty stocking minutes later.)_

_“Does Jesus like Christmas?” Callie asked, and Brandon could have hugged her for saying it like he was still around.  After her freakout last month, she, Jude and Moms had some big talk he and Mariana weren’t a part of._

_Nobody went in Jesus’s room anymore._

_Moms had never mentioned the time, that first weekend after Callie and Jude got here…  How Mom had found Brandon basically claiming squatter’s rights there, even sleeping in Jesus’s bed._

_They never mentioned how she had stood there and just stared with her breath caught in her throat, until he rolled over, squinting in the light at her._

_They never talked about how her face hardened, and she said, “Get out,” like she hated him.  Like he was the worst person ever for just wanting his own space for one more night._

_“Oh yeah…” Mom smiled, in answer to Callie’s question.  “Loves it.  We’re should have a big celebration when he’s back.”  Her face stayed frozen in a forced smile.  She was trying too hard.  Wanting too much._

_Wishing…which looked so wrong on her because he knew how many calls she got from work to go in and say if this delinquent kid was Jesus.  If this dead body was her son._

_Silence._

_“Let’s open some gifts,” Lena encouraged, and the room came to life again._


	13. Chapter 13

**_THEN_ **

**_Saturday, August 1, 2009_ **

**_Missing: 1 year, 10 months and 25 days_ **

_Eight months passed, and Josh was starting to feel braver.  Hell if he was going to let That Day come around if he could do something about it._

_Josh was eleven now.  About to start sixth grade. Definitely old enough to start thinking about escaping._

_So he wouldn’t make Him pissed off, Josh played along like he liked everything and was happy Here.  He wouldn’t think about Josh maybe doing something if He thought Josh forgot all about his family._

_For months Josh had spied on Him when He was on his laptop.  Mostly it was sick stuff, so Josh wished he hadn’t looked at all.  But he pretended to have other questions that couldn’t wait so he’d have a reason to walk over when he was typing his password.  So far, no luck._

_But today, Josh was trying again.  It was the weekend and it was always like He tried to set a record on the weekends.  Josh was at Level 1 constantly.  If not, it would show - how bad he hurt._

_Josh wasn’t sure how long he could keep doing this.  Had to go for it.  Do it.  Ask something!_

_“Can I get a Facebook?  Everyone at school already has one,” Josh blurted.  Sometimes, He gave in about something if He knew it would help Josh fit in better.  If he fit in better, nobody would call the cops._

_“The age limit says you have to be thirteen,” He said, looking at the stack of Post-Its for his login password.  Josh kept track of which one it was._

_“So, I have to wait two years?” Josh asked, like it was the worst, repeating the letters and numbers he’d seen on the Post-It in his head.  (If he was still Here in two years…that would be the real worst.)_

_His phone buzzed from the table in the kitchen and He swore.  Got up._

_Josh waited ‘til He was out there totally.  Until He said hello._

_Then, slowly, Josh opened the drawer.  Listening for the sound of His voice, Josh heard it, and was confident he had the time he needed.  Even though his question had failed, Josh knew He had a Facebook, and that the password was on one of those Post-It notes.  If he could get on, maybe he could search for Stef and Lena.  See if they still searched for him.  If they still wanted him to come home._

_But like a stealth, He was there, and the drawer was brutally slammed on Josh’s finger._

_–_

_Brandon sat on stage, ready to give the performance of his life._

_A scholarship to music camp had come out of nowhere and renewed his passion for piano. Mostly, though, it was Moms’ promise that the family would all be there to hear his final performance. He had told them about it in June.  Both Mom and Lena put it in their phones so they wouldn’t forget.  Brandon even called Dad to remind him of it.  He had to work today, he’d said, but he’d be off in plenty of time to drive out and hear him play._

_He had been selected from among his peers to play not once, like everyone else, but twice.  They all did their classical pieces, but Brandon was going to get to play his original song._

_Sick with anticipation, he got the cue to play, and Brandon lost himself in the performance.  Classical was where he was most comfortable, most confident.  His fingers flew over the keys, playing the complex melodies like a second language he’d been raised to speak._

_When he finished there was a pause.  Brandon lived for that pause.  It meant the audience was into your performance, not just waiting for you to finish._

_The applause was deafening.  Brandon smiled but kept his focus._

_He wasn’t done._

_–_

_Josh screamed as pain exploded in his hand._

_Blood rushed in his ears, Level 3, fear and pain and panic._

_At least he couldn’t hear the screaming.  Or feel the searing agony, as He leaned all his weight on the closed drawer, just waiting, a smile on His face:_

_“You think you’re smart, dumbass?” He said, mocking Josh softly._

_The rushing stopped.  Josh could hear._

_“No,” he cried.  “I’m not smart.”_

_–_

_Brandon played Invisible Boy with everything he had.  With his heart and soul and sweat and tears.  It meant everything to him.  The closest he would come to having a baby.  He felt about this song was pretty much how his parents felt about him._

_He wanted them to get it.  To know him._

_Because it was about Jesus…._

_But it was about him, too._

_–_

_This time, Josh was sure.  More sure than he had ever been about anything ever.  This was it.  He was gonna kill him._

_The gun was out.  One bullet in it._

_He turned the circle where all the bullets go, so neither of them knew if it would fire or not._

_It was against Jesus’s head when He pulled the trigger._

_–_

_Afterward, the whole audience stood.  Brandon’s first ever ovation.  He stood.  Bowed.  Feeling so great.  Proud.  Like he did something that counted._

_People congratulated him.  Brandon shook hands and said thanks, but was on the lookout for Mom.  For Dad.  For Mama._

_Everybody was meeting up with their families just outside the auditorium, so that’s where he went next.  He met his fellow musicians’ parents.  Scanned for his own._

_“Maybe they’re outside,” Talya encouraged._

_But they weren’t._

_They were nowhere._

_When Brandon finally got the guts to check his phone, he sees them: 3 texts._

**Lena:**

Brandon, I am so sorry.  I have a meeting with Jude’s tutor.  Tried to reschedule, but just can’t make it work.  Please tell me all about it tonight.  You are so talented.  I love you.  Mom and Dad will be there.

**Mom:**

So sorry!  Something came up with work!  Good luck, my baby!  I love you!  Dad and Lena will be there.

**Dad:**

Sorry B had to help your mom w something at work.  Knock ‘em dead!

_Brandon knew if something came up at work, it was bad.  A body.  Maybe Jesus._

_He felt hot, then cold.  Then made it inside just in time to hurl in a trash can._

_“Baby, are you okay?” Talya asked, a hand on is back._

_Brandon stood up, eyes watering:_

_“No.  I’m quitting.”_

_**Monday, August 10, 2009** _

_**Missing: 1 year, 11 months and 3 days** _

_The day Callie and Jude get adopted was a weekday.  So all of them ditched their obligations and got in their good clothes to go to court._

_Mariana was being a drama queen.  Between turning eleven and getting new siblings, she just imploded.  Faking a stomachache every time something happened that she didn’t like.  If you asked him, she needed to get used to disappointment._

_But somehow they all got there, and Brandon sat with Mariana while Moms sat up front with Callie and Jude._

_He almost fell asleep during the boring parts but finally their new names were announced (Callie Quinn Foster and Jude Jacob Foster) and that was it.  There was a family photo and cake and a party afterward._

_Brandon sat out back with a paper plate and a slab of cake the size of a brick.  It was so good.  Mom sat down next to him._

_“B, I’m so sorry we missed your recital.  We want to make it up to you.”_

_“You don’t have to.”  He stabbed the cake aggressively.  “It’s fine.”_

_“We would like to make it up to you.  So, your birthday’s coming up?  You think about what you might like.  Who you want to invite.  What you want to eat.  Gifts.  The whole nine.  We’ll do our best to make it happen.  You only turn thirteen once.”_

_“You really don’t have to,” Brandon shook his head._

_Their best just wasn’t good enough._

_“Well, if you change your mind, let us know, will you?”_

_“Yeah, of course,” he nodded._

_He swallowed the lump in his throat with a bite of that cake._

_It helped. But just barely._

_–_

_Don’t move.  Don’t breathe._

_The chain around Josh’s waist was digging in.  Not that Josh knew how that was possible because he just kept getting smaller.  At least Hell Week was over.  It was so bad Josh couldn’t think about without wincing.  Without gagging.  Without getting dizzy.  The pain had been so bad he wished that gun game worked._

_But lately, He had been sounding different.  Distracted.  Like he had something on his mind._

_Josh was quiet, trying to collect clues and not pass out when he moved._

_“School’s almost starting,” He observed, nodding permission for Josh to speak._

_“Yeah,” he said._

_“So you gotta heal up right so you can go to school and look around for me, understand?”_

_“For what?” Josh asked, flinching out of habit._

_“Oh come on.  You know what I like.  I need another one.”_

_“I can be better,” Josh offered, desperate.  “Please don’t give up on me.  I can be good, I swear!”_

_He laughed.  Evil.  “Stop begging.  My God. Like I’d let all my hard work go to waste.”_

_He’d told Josh once.  He liked the ones who fought but didn’t whine.  Who gave him a challenge.  He liked the ones he could break, getting them to do whatever he said, and come back for more._

_Unchained but not all the way, He led Josh upstairs to the bathroom.  Ran water in the tub.  Unchained him all the way.  Had Josh get in._

_Breathe.  But Josh couldn’t.  It smelled like bleach in here.  He was so hyper about germs in the bathroom._

_Still.  Try._

_Breathe._

_It was always scarier when He was nice._

_“You’ll feel better in no time,” He said gently, examining Josh’s black and blue finger.  “And in the meantime, you’re not going to do anything like think or plan.  Because what are you?”_

_“A warm body.” Josh answered, without thinking.  Level 3.  Danger.  Automatic._

_“Good boy.”_

_–_

_Brandon pulled the pillow over his head when he heard Mariana.  In his room.  Lucky for Jude, he slept through anything._

_Even his sister, who had started sleepwalking.  It was so annoying._

_“Jesus,” she mumbled._

_“Go to bed, Mariana,” Brandon hissed._

_“I’ve got her,” Callie insisted, but Mariana lunged._

_Brandon sat up on instinct to catch her._

_“Jesus…  I’m sorry…  He’s hurt…  We need to find him…”_

_It took two of them to walk Mariana back across the hall.  To reassure her that Jesus was okay, even though, they all knew the truth:  Wherever Jesus was, he definitely was not okay._

_When she was finally settled, and only tossing and turning, not up and crying, Callie spoke. Her voice raised goosebumps on Brandon’s arms:_

_“Living here is kind of like living with a ghost,” she observed softly._

_“You get used to it.”_


	14. Chapter 14

**NOW**

**Thursday, October 30, 2014**

**Home:  3 years and 16 days**

Jesus is determined to make things right with Frankie.  He gets that she is four (and a half) but it doesn’t make her feelings any less valid.  She got his letter on Tuesday and took it to her room to open. She’s been distant, even though he asked first thing when she came home from school to see her picture.

Also, he had therapy yesterday, where he shared about Ethan.  Now, his immune system is seriously pissed at him.  He has this hacking old-man cough, and he needs a distraction, both from that, and from the cryptic emails Ethan keeps sending.  He’s like a stalker.  If Jesus had known the kid would not leave him alone, no way he would’ve reached out to him in the first place.

Though he really feels like he should be wearing a mask, or resting in his blankets, Jesus busts out his excited voice:  “Frankie, buddy! I just got a great idea! Let’s make some cookies together!  … _If_  Mama says it’s okay…” He meets Mama’s eyes, silently begging her to play along.

Mama’s right here, of course, because just between Jesus and Frankie, being a mom is a full time job.  She looks at Jesus and cracks a smile.  “Well…I don’t know….  I don’t think Frankie likes cookies anymore…”

“Yes, I do!  Can we, Mama?”

“Do you,  _really_?” Mama teased, dragging out the word skeptically.

“Yes!” Frankie cheers.  “Can we make big ones?  All by ourselves?”

“Of course.” Jesus grins.  “Giant-sized and perfect.  That’s the goal.”

“Yay!” Frankie cheers.  

Mama sends her to wash her hands, and checks in with Jesus when she’s gone.  He’s pulling out everything: flour, baking soda, salt, white sugar, brown sugar, butter, vanilla.  (He even pulls his secret ingredient: almond extract.)  And of course, chocolate chips.  Jesus lays it all out on the table with measuring cups and spoons.  He hacks into the crook of his arm.

“You feeling okay, bud?” Mama wonders.

“Yeah, just a cough,” he reassures.  (He needs it to be just a cough.)

“Okay,”  she reaches for him on instinct, to check his temperature, he knows. Sometimes being a mom is like that.  She’s told him before.  She still totally respects him as a person, but the urge to take care sometimes gets too strong.

Jesus flinches reactively.  He can’t help it.  “Sorry,” he meets her eyes.  “I’m okay.”

Mama crosses her arms, to keep herself from reaching out without asking again. “I’m sorry, too,” she says.  “I should have asked.”

“It’s that Mom thing again?” he asks, grinning.

“You know it,” she smiles.  “If you start to feel any worse, or if anything changes, will you please come and tell me about it?”

He shrugs, looking away.  “It’s not a thing.”

“I understand that this makes you nervous.  I can only imagine all the reasons why.  But you are my son.  Your health matters to me.”

“Because of the human stuff?” he asks quietly as Frankie comes back in the kitchen, brandishing a toy whisk.  She starts identifying all the ingredients she can, tapping them like that whisk is a magic wand.

(Sometimes, he still forgets the super obvious: that as a person, he has the right to feel safe, the right to have his basic needs seen to. The right to basic human dignity and respect.  Over the years, he’s just shortened it to “the human stuff” since the first time he remembers Moms talking about it to him, they had started by saying, “You are a human being.”)

“Yes,” Mama says firmly, looking him in the eye.  “Healthcare is a basic human need, and you’re a human, so you qualify.”

“Kinda wish I was an alien…” he says softly.  Being sick at all makes him feel disconnected.  That feels a bit too close to blanking out.  Plus feeling sick at all reminds him of That Day when his dumbassness was at an epic high and he made the worst choice of his life.

“Mom and I will keep you safe,” Mama promises.  “Do you trust us?”

“I’m trying,” he admits.  “It’s hard right now.”

“Can we make these now?” Frankie asks.  “I’m all done magicking the ‘gredients so everything can be giant.”

“I’ll be here,” Mama says, addressing Jesus.  “If you can’t say anything, just come stand by me.”

“Okay,” he nods his thanks, and then turns to Frankie:  “We can totally make these now. And, dude, I’m so glad you brought your magic whisk!”

She smiles.  It’s the first real smile he’s seen on his baby sister in days.

In no time, Frankie is covered in flour.  While prompting her through measuring the right amount of everything and dumping it in the bowl, Jesus asks:

“Did you get my letter?”

She bites her lip, concentrating as she unwraps a stick of butter:  “I liked Mr. Cheesy Burger and Mrs. Fries.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you for real.  And respect, okay?  ‘Cause you’re not a alien to me.”

“Thanks.”  (She’s so damn genuine and observant.)  Jesus clears his throat, which turns into a long coughing jag.  

Frankie side-eyes him.

“I’m okay.”

“I’m still kinda mad at you inside,” Frankie says, when Jesus stops coughing.  “‘Cause I want you to come with me to school to see all my best work.”

“It’s okay to feel mad.  I’d be mad, too, if I couldn’t have you with me.  And I definitely wanna see your best work.”  Jesus adds the extracts.

“Then why can’t you come with us?” she asks sadly.

“Well, something scary happened when I was a kid…right on that sidewalk.”

Frankie studies him, her brown eyes serious.  Jesus hasn’t talked to her about this before.  No one has, that he knows of.  Moms are firm on the idea that Jesus be in control of who he tells, and when, and how much.  With Mama right there, he feels okay trying to explain this to Frankie.

“What scary thing happened?” Frankie wanted to know.

Jesus meets Mama’s eyes.  She’s there for backup if he needs.

“Well, somebody very bad took me to his house without asking.”

Frankie’s stirring, and trying like hell to process what she’s just heard.  She stirs hard and long until her arm is too tired, and she gives Jesus a turn.  She watches, breathing into the bowl, and barely resists tasting the dough.  Just when he thinks she’s forgotten all about it, Frankie asks another question.

“Away from  _Moms_ , the bad guy took you?” she seems incredulous and freaked out at the idea.  “And me?”  (Frankie is positive that she has always existed in the family.  She can’t tolerate the idea that she ever wasn’t with them.  Jesus gets that, so he doesn’t push her on it.)

“Yeah.”

“Can the bad guy get me?” she asks, concerned.

“Nope, He can’t hurt you or me or anybody ever again.  But sometimes being on that sidewalk makes me remember all the times he did.  Sometimes, even though it’s been a long time, my body and mind remember.  Sometimes I feel like the scary thing might happen again.  Sometimes I get too much fear and worry, you know?””

“Like in the night?” she asks.

“Yeah…sometimes…”

“It scares me that you’re loud,” she admits.

“That makes sense,” he nods, though his heart aches.  

They are quiet, rolling big balls of dough.  It’s not until the cookies are baking and he and Frankie are parked on a chair in front of the oven that she mentions the conversation again.  On his lap, she turns:

“Wanna know what?” she whispers, two inches from his face.  “I fighted that bad guy for ya.”

Tears spring to his eyes.  Jesus swallows.  “I have no doubt.”

She lays her head on his chest and he sits still, holding his breath.  He doesn’t want this to end.  When Frankie breaks the silence, her voice is full of awe:

“That cookie’s gonna be as big as your face.  I can’t wait to eat it.”

“I can’t wait either.”


	15. Chapter 15

To this day, when Stef gets a phone call at work, her vision goes dim at the edges.  She can’t think of picking up a call and not think back to three years ago, and all the other false alarm calls for years before that.  It has wrecked her nerves.  But having Jesus home has made everything worth it.

“Lena.  What’s going on?” she asks.  Stef will be home in a half hour.  If Lena’s calling early there must be something.

“Jesus is sick and he’s getting worse.  I think he probably just needs antibiotics.”  Her voice is low and she drops it even lower:  “But I don’t think I can take him in alone.”

Stef nods.  “No.  You’re right.  He needs both of us.”

In fifteen minutes, Stef is home.  First, she makes a pass through the kitchen to grab whatever she can for Jesus, knowing just how much he needs access to food.  She walks past Brandon and Jude in the living room playing video games, and heads upstairs.  Lena is making sure Jesus has everything he needs.  Stef knows she needs to make quick work of delegating responsibilities.  She finds the girls in their room:

“Mama and I need to take Jesus to the doctor.  Mariana, I need you to watch Frankie.  Callie, can you take care of dinner?”

“I can’t.” Mariana moans.

It isn’t until this moment that Stef registers Mariana, curled on her side in bed, cradling her stomach.  Not again.

“My stomach hurts,” she gasps.

“Honey, just because Jesus is sick doesn’t mean you are.  Twin sympathy pain isn’t real.”

“Well, you’re not a twin, so technically, how could you know?” Callie asks.  She has Frankie posing for selfies galore.  Frankie is in her element.

“Not on social media, please,” she cautions.  She doesn’t need her baby having a massive digital presence before kindergarten.

“From the back?” Callie asks. “Or if her face isn’t showing?”

“If you text Mama or me and we approve them first. Now, dinner and your sister.  Can you two figure out how to divide and conquer?”

Mariana whimpers.  

“What about Jude and Brandon?” Callie wonders, casting a doubtful look Mariana’s way.

“If you can get them to help, knock yourself out.  I have to go.  I love you, babies.”

Frankie leaps from Callie’s bed into Stef’s arms.  “Did you know a bad guy got Jesus?  You shoulda shooted him with your gun.  To make him give Jesus back.”

Stef gives a stern look to both girls:   _What on earth have you been talking to your sister about?_

Finally, she meets up with Lena and Jesus outside his room.  He’s got his yellow fleece blanket over his shoulders (part of his Ideal Situation Room Makeover.)  It’s a tell.  He’s feeling major levels of vulnerability. No matter the illness, Jesus can’t help but equate it with being taken.

Stef hasn’t learned much in these three years, in terms of particulars of her son’s abduction, but she does know he left school that day, and took the ride when it was offered, because he felt sick.  Getting in a car for any reason at this moment is going to be beyond difficult for him.

“Do you have something to eat?” she asks.

Jesus shakes his head.  He’s pale, and his eyes are darting.  “Not hungry.”

Stef ushers him out the door, arms around his waist, as much to keep him grounded as to keep him moving.  Jesus hesitates at the passenger door.

“We’ll sit in back, yes?  You want Mama to drive?”

The nod is almost imperceptible, but Stef sees it.  Knows he feels more comfortable with her as a cop, sitting directly beside him, for protection.  It’s a big deal: Jesus does not trust all cops, not even close.  But he does trust her.  On her, the uniform means what it is meant to mean.

In the car, Lena pops in an old, burned CD of all Brandon’s piano music.  Jesus finds it comforting and particular enough that it does not bring back memories.

  
Stef  holds a giant cookie out to Jesus.  She found a plate on the counter, and two, inexplicably, in the fridge.  She’d snagged one, putting it in a Ziploc for transport.

“I don’t  _want_  it,” he growls.  But Stef knows him well enough now to see the truth in his eyes.  He’s not mad.  He’s terrified.

“You,” she says firmly.  “Are safe with us.  We are taking care of you.  We won’t leave you.  This is different.  I can see this is very hard, but I need you to stay present.  When you’re ready, I need you to put your seatbelt on, so you’re safe in the car.”

Jesus swallows.  

Lena inches the volume up just a little, so it’s obvious, but not blaring.

Slowly, Jesus buckles himself in, hands shaking.  (Stef has seen the scars, when his shirt rides up - on his wrists, around his waist - any restraint at all must be awful for him.)

He asks to be held “over the blanket,” and Stef wraps her arms around him.

“Talk to me?” he begs.  “About home?”

“Well, I bet you your buddy, Frankie is begging for one of these cookies right about now…”

A smile twitches across his face and fades just as quickly.

“They smell delicious, by the way.”

“You can have it,” he offers, turning his face away and coughing into the blanket.  Stef wonders if he’ll be able to part with it for her to run it through the wash.

“It’s for you, so it’ll be right here whenever you want it,” she reassures.  “We’re going to stay together, and after we’re done, we’re going home together.”

“I know,” he says, but his voice is shaking.

In the waiting room, Jesus struggles, pacing and coughing.  His blanket falls off his shoulders onto the floor.  When the nurse calls for Jesus Foster, he doesn’t appear to react.  It’s like he doesn’t even know the name belongs to him.

Stef stands in front of him, effectively stopping his progress toward wearing a hole in the carpet under his feet. “It’s our turn now.”  

Lena picks up the blanket and asks, “Can I put this around you?”

“Sure,” he answers, voice flat.

He’s shutting down to protect himself, Stef knows, but it does not make it any easier to watch.  Stef nods for the blanket, and speaks to Jesus again, clear and calm:

“I want you to hold this in your hands, okay?  Think about holding it.  We’re with you.  We’ll leave as soon as we’re done.  All of us together.”

In the office, they lose him completely.  He is eerily compliant, dropping the blanket to the floor the moment he’s asked to sit on the exam table.  Lena insists that the doctor (his doctor, thank God, so at least she’s not a total stranger, and is familiar with his quirks) explain everything to Jesus, regardless of the fact that he seems unresponsive.  Insists that the doctor ask for consent before asking him to lift his shirt or listen to his breathing.

She does.

Stef and Lena answer questions he cannot, about his symptoms and how long he’s had them.

They leave with a prescription to treat his bronchitis.

In the car again, with the blanket around him, and Brandon’s music playing, Stef talks to him.  She is trusting Lena (and every other driver out this evening) not to hit them.  She cannot, on good conscience, ask him to put a seatbelt on, or put it on him, when he is so dissociated.

They get home, all in one piece, prescription in hand.  Lena parks, and Jesus lurches out of the car, hyperventilating.

“You’re safe, love.  Let’s go in the house, okay?”  She anchors him around the blanket and gets him as far as the foyer, where he sits on the stairs just inside, to get his breath.

She can tell he’s back, when his gaze sharpens, and he breathes in.  

“Mac and cheese?” he asks, like it’s a miracle.

“Yeah,” Callie answers, and Stef is startled, not at all sure how long Callie has been standing there.  “Want some?”

“Not right now, but it smells so good,” Jesus says, apologetic.

Stef and Lena are flanking him - the makings of a Mama Sandwich - should he want one.  

“Sorry…” he apologizes.  “That was just epically hard.”

“We understand,” Lena reassures.  “As best we can.  There’s no need to apologize.  It’s a difficult thing.”

He turns to Stef, his face open, raw: “Will you stay close?  I just…feel like I might do better knowing you’ve got my back.”

“Always, my baby.  Anything you need? Sure you won’t try a little dinner?”

“Food makes me cough,” he admits sadly.

“Ah…  Tea?” she tries and he wrinkles his nose.

Lena gets up, determined to find something Jesus can eat or drink.  She and Frankie pass each other in the living room.  Frankie stops in front of Jesus.  Stef hasn’t moved, taking his words with utmost seriousness.

Frankie stands, always moving, in an effort to keep her balance.  She tips forward, catches herself on Jesus’s knee.  

He flinches.

“Sorry.  It was on accident,” Frankie apologizes, looking worried.

“I know,” he nods.  “I understand.”

“But you jumped.”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes, when I’m having a hard time…” Jesus says softly.

“I jump, too.  Loud noises do it to me,” she says, not ashamed, just matter of fact.

“Did you need something, sweetie?” Stef prompts.

“I just wanna tell Jesus you don’t have to walk to school with me,” Frankie says, looking right at him.

Stef is confused, but listens anyway.  (It’s not like she has a choice.  Jesus has got one of her hands clutched in both of his.)  Whatever this is, Jesus doesn’t need to harp or grovel, he just asks a question of his own:

“Can I still see your picture you made, though?”

“I ripped it from being mad at you…” Frankie mumbles studying her blue and white Elsa shoes.

“Oh.  Well, can I see the next one you make?”

Frankie’s face splits into a wide smile. “I made a dragon today, like that fat one you got in your room.”

“What do  _you_  know about my fat dragon?” he teases gently.

“A  _lot_ ,” she insists.  “I know what color he is and his name and lots of stuff.”

“Okay, I definitely need to see this picture.  Can you go get it?”

“Okay!  I will right now!”

Jesus lays his head down on Stef’s shoulder, as soon as Frankie is off, searching.

“I told her today.  What happened to me.”

Feelings rush inside Stef: protectiveness, anger, but under that, fear.  She remembers Mariana making a similar choice to be honest with Frankie when she was still a baby.  (…That reminds her, she needs to check on Mariana tonight.  Make sure her stomachache is really psychosomatic and not appendicitis or something…)

_This is his choice_ , she reminds herself.

“How’d it go?” she asks, keeping her tone light.

“Good, I think.”  A pause.  He lifts his head to study her face.  “Are you mad?”

“My feelings are about me, love, not you.  I want to protect you guys.  I wish you didn’t have to know about these things.”

“I didn’t go into detail.  Just kept it simple.”  He glances over his shoulder, surprised by a loud clatter in the kitchen.

Stef keeps a calming hand on his back:  “Status report,” she calls. An unexpected, unexplained noise could mean disaster for Jesus.

“ _Jude_  dropped a cookie sheet,” Brandon insists, from out of sight.

“No way, it was  _Brandon_!” Jude retorts, laughing.

Stef waits until Jesus visibly relaxes and then continues: “You can tell who you want, when you feel the time is right.  I trust your judgement.”

Jesus nods.  “Listen, after I check out Frankie’s picture, I think I’m gonna crash.  Can you hang out? Like in the hall or something for a bit?  Still feeling kinda out of it and on edge.”

“Of course,” Stef nods.

“This is my picture!  Are you ready?” Frankie asks, dragging her backpack over, a crumpled paper in her fist.  “Ta da!” she thrusts it at him.  “Your fat dragon!”

A startled laugh bubbles out of Jesus, as he studies the amorphous shapes and random letters.  “Buddy, I love this.  You just made my day showing me this.”

Frankie smiles proudly.  “You like it?  For real?”

“I do.  I love it.”  He’s still coughing.  Still pale.  Still more than a little rattled.  But there is life in his eyes now.

“I love you hug?” Frankie asks, arms open. (Stef loves that her Frankie clarifies what kind of hug, from time to time.  Jesus loves it, too.  He’s told Stef and Lena:  “You can’t be too specific or too obvious.  I dig clarity.”)

He gathers her in his embrace, and Stef hears the affirmation he whispers in her ear:  “You are so talented.  I love your art.  But you know what?”

“Huh?” she asks, her arms still around him, but sitting back so she can see his face.

“I love your heart even more.”


	16. Chapter 16

**_THEN_ **

**_Friday, September 7, 2007_ **

**_12:02 PM_ **

**_Missing: 1 hour and 2 minutes_ **

_Jesus woke up and tried to look around._

_Where_ was _he?_

_What was happening?_

_There was something over his head.  Over all of him.  He was handcuffed behind his back.  His legs tied together and up to his wrists.  It hurt, and he moaned from the pain._

_A hand reached back and crammed something in Jesus’s mouth.  A napkin from a fast food place.  Jesus didn’t think, he just bit down as hard as he could._

If you don’t see a weapon, you fight.  Fight and scream and get someone’s attention. _That was Mom, talking inside his head to him.  Making him remember what to do._

_“Ouch!  God damn it!  You’re a live one, aren’t you?”  A Voice said.  Not mad.  Laughing._

_Pain exploded in his head.  Everything went black._

_**1:13 PM** _

_**Missing: 2 hours and 13 minutes** _

_Mariana was going to be in so much trouble.  She sat in the hall and tried to think._

_Would Mama care the book they had to read was old and disturbing?  Would she care that it made Mariana think about their old life, with their birth mom?  Would she care that reading about adults hurting kids made Mariana so mad, she had to say something?  (Even if it was, “This book is stupid!” right in the middle of their Reading Meeting without raising her hand.)_

_Jesus was good at getting out of trouble.  She tried talking to him in her head.  (Sometimes, they really did!)  But he wasn’t answering now.  Whatever, Jesus._

_**2:44 PM** _

_**Missing: 3 hours and 44 minutes** _

_Jesus really had to pee.  He was so scared.  In one spot, his head felt a little wet.  It hurt way more than earlier.  This was the worst day ever._

_The car stopped._

_Jesus could feel his his heart pounding._

_He heard keys.  Heavy boots._

_One of the doors by Jesus’s feet opened.  A Hand pushed him off the seat rough.  Something closed around all of him.  Jesus couldn’t breathe._

_Moving.  In the air.  Like Dark Magic in Harry Potter.  Jesus was so scared, he couldn’t hold it anymore.  What seemed like a million steps down._

_Hard ground slammed him in the face and stomach.  Jesus couldn’t move or breathe.  If he couldn’t breathe, he’d die._

_A sound like blood rushing blocked all the other sounds.  It happened before, but only when the worst stuff happened when they lived with their real mom._

_A Hand yanked his hair when taking off the thing on Jesus’s head.  When he could see, it made it all worse.  Jesus knew Him, but didn’t know from where.  He looked familiar.  Like a normal person._

_“What’s your name?” He asked in a creepy way, and took the stuff off Jesus’s mouth and out of it.  Moved toward him.  His tongue felt gross._

_Jesus couldn’t talk.  Kissing on the lips was not allowed for kids.  Jesus knew because he tried it with a girl at school once.  Moms said only the cheek and only if both of him and the girl said yes about it.    Nobody asked him if he said yes about this.  Jesus couldn’t say yes or no or any words._

_Would he be in trouble now?_

_“Jesus,” he said, his voice finally working.  Only a little shaky._

_A gun for real.  Like Mom’s, but Mom would never do this._

_He pointed it.  “You are what I say you are,” He growled._

…But if you see a knife or a gun, do exactly as you’re told.  You wanna be alive when Mama and I find you.  Cooperate.  Play along.  Act like you are on his side.  Try to be his friend _, Mom said.  Jesus remembered Brandon rolling his eyes.  Mariana sitting on Mama’s lap playing with her bracelets.  But Jesus had listened._

_“Okay,” Jesus managed._

_“You are nothing.  Say it.”_

_“I am nothing,” Jesus repeated, the exact same as He said it.  But Jesus had his fingers crossed behind his back._

_**3:10 PM** _

_**Missing: 4 hours and 10 minutes** _

_Mariana got in the house and closed the door.  It was a good thing the teacher didn’t tell Mama what she said in class.  But now, she had to write a one-page essay over the weekend on how important respect was in the classroom._

_“Hey, guys,” Mama called.  Mariana and Brandon came into the living room.  “Where’s Jesus?”_

_“I thought he was here already…” Brandon said.  “He didn’t walk home with us.”_

_Mariana’s stomach sank._

_“Did he say anything at school?” Mama pressed.  “Talk about going to the beach or a friend’s?”_

_“No,” Mariana said.  “He didn’t.”  She crossed her fingers behind her.  She wanted it to be true._


	17. Chapter 17

**_6:54 PM_ **

**_Missing: 7 hours and 54 minutes_ **

_Real chains were worse than handcuffs.   The big cement pole was cold on his back.  The song about I’m So Dumb hurt his brain._

_The mattress was right there, taunting him.  Right in his face, except Jesus couldn’t get there.  It made him feel weird inside.  Like Something Bad, but he didn’t know what.  But he was so tired.  So sore.  So cold.  Whatever He wanted, Jesus would do it because the gun was still out.  And because his mind was frozen stiff._

_“Can we go there?” he asked in a dead voice, nodding at it.  “Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”_

_He smiled.  Breathed his stinky breath on Jesus.  “Anything?” He asked and came at Jesus again, smashing their lips together.  Hands touched private places.  Jesus shook but didn’t fight.  The gun was still there._

_“This will be fun,” He said in a voice that chilled Jesus.  He undid the chain from the pole, but left his hands chained to his waist in front.  He jerked the long part like a leash, making Jesus walk on shaky legs and fall on the bed.  He moved the chains out of the way._

_Jesus didn’t know where his clothes were.  Didn’t remember taking them off.  Just remembered going away inside his head._

_When Something was happening, he moved his leg, the only part he could.  Mom wasn’t in his head anymore, so Jesus talked to himself.  Pretended he didn’t see or feel or hear.  If he really was nothing, then he couldn’t be hurt._

_He was scary and gross.  Jesus looked right through Him.  Moved his own leg like a marker, spelling a word.  A reminder to himself.  To go away.  Fade.  (Mom, where are you?)_

_“Your name is Josh.”  Jesus heard it through a long tunnel, echoing.  (The gun was on his chest.  Neck.  Head.)_

_“Say it.”_

_The gun made a noise like it was alive and getting ready to shoot._

_“My name is Josh,” he repeated, voice flat._

_Josh wondered if Jesus was really real or not._

_Did he make up Jesus and that life?_

_Go blank.  Go blank.  Go blank._

_D-I-S–_

_Josh’s leg was writing.  It was working.  He was blanking out.  More and more.  Not a real boy.  Fake.  Fake boys couldn’t be hurt.  Josh thought hard.  Mariana would know how to spell this, but not Jesus–not_ Josh _._

_U-P–_

_The ceiling was blank, just like Josh was trying to make his brain.  It hurt more than anything.  Screaming.  Was he screaming?_

_H-E-R-E._

_Something broke inside him, and Josh fought.  As much as he could.  As hard.  It didn’t matter.  In fact, it made Him even happier.  Even meaner._

_The gun wasn’t there, so he screamed: “I’m Jesus!”_

_He leaned very close.  “Jesus is my Lord and Savior,” He said, saying Jesus wrong on purpose.  “You’re not my Lord and Savior.  You’re a dumbass.  You’re a warm body.  You’re nothing.”  The gun was there again:  “And if you ever scream at me again, say that name again, answer to that name again?  I’ll bury you in my backyard.”_

_Click.  Trigger.  Black._

_**8:15 PM** _

_**Missing: 9 hours and 15 minutes** _

_It was bedtime and Jesus still wasn’t home.  It was a good thing it was the weekend, because Mariana hadn’t even started her punishment essay or any other homework._

_Mariana was sitting on swing on the porch.  Mom and Mike and other cops were there.  They were talking to Mama in the kitchen.  They said “Amber Alert” and “press conference.”  They were going to have to stay at Grandma’s tonight.  Brandon was inside packing for him and Mariana._

_She had already talked to the police.  Told them she didn’t know anything.  Jesus hadn’t said anything.  She felt sick.  Why couldn’t this just be one of his stupid jokes?  Why couldn’t he just come home?_

_She got up and walked around, afraid to leave the safety of the porch.  A figure walked across the yard and up the steps.  Ms. Mitchell from down the street.  She smelled like cats and had a stack of TV dinners in her arms._

_Mariana tried not to roll her eyes.  Tried to be polite.  But everybody knew Old Ms. Mitchell just came around for gossip.  She sat on the swing beside Mariana and set the dinners down._

_“Well, what’s going on here?” she asked, like she was excited by all the drama._

_“Nothing,” Mariana answered, determined._

_But then she softened.  Jesus liked Ms. Mitchell.  He said she was nice because she gave them candy without a reason.  Besides, she was a harmless old lady.  So, Mariana offered:  “It’s just…Jesus didn’t come home from school today.”_

_“Mariana, come on,” Brandon said, stepping out on the porch.  He side-eyed Ms. Mitchell.  “Moms say Grandma’s on her way now.”_

_“You kids take these inside,” Ms. Mitchell patted the TV dinners.  Then, she dug in her pocket and pulled out a handful of ancient strawberry hard candy.  “Give this to that brother of yours when he comes home.”_

_“Sure, thank you,” Mariana said, but wrinkled her nose at Ms. Mitchell’s retreating back.  Her candy was terrible._

_“Did they find him yet?” she asked, turning hopeful eyes to Brandon_

_“Come on.  We’ve gotta go.  Grandma’s waiting,” Brandon insisted, as a car pulled in the drive._

_Mariana looked extra hard to be sure it was really Grandma Sharon, before getting inside._

_**10:30 PM** _

_**Missing: 11 hours and 30 minutes** _

_Josh was back on the pole.  Arms behind him.  Tape on his mouth that made it hard to breathe._

_He left for a little bit, and that was almost worse than Him being there.  Being alone was always worse._

_But when He came back, Josh was wishing He hadn’t even thought that.  First, He bragged about His big flat screen TV.  Then:_

_“Oh yeah.  I saw your family.  Your moms think you ran away. Boy, are they pissed at you…  Good thing I got you when I did, ‘cause they’ll never want you back once they know what you did.”_

_Josh struggled.  It wasn’t true!  Moms loved him!  Love was a choice and family meant forever! That’s what they said last year in July when they got adopted!_

_“You know,” He said, like this was totally normal, grabbing Josh by the hair and jerking his head back, making Josh gasp.  “I know where you live.  And that sister of yours is a looker.  If you don’t behave, I can just go get her…”_

_Josh shook his head hard.  He reached over and ripped the tape off.  It felt like he ripped Josh’s whole mouth off with it._

_“No?” He said, like he wasn’t sure.  “I could.  It would be really easy.  Just look at how easy it was to get you,” He teased.  “I could…get rid of you…  Drive out and get her…  What do you think?  Her name’s Mariana, right?”_

_“You have me,” Josh said, eyes stinging.  “You don’t need her.  She’s just a dumb girl.  You wouldn’t like her, anyway.  She’s a total drama queen.”  Breathe.  She’ll forgive you._

_“What’ll you give me,” He asked, cocking his head.  “Nothing’s free.”_

_“What do you want?” Josh asked, his voice somehow steady._

_“Now you’re learning,”” He smiled, coming at him with the thing to put back over his head._

_Josh made himself not care.  Just go away.  Go blank.  Do it for Mariana.  To protect her._

_After, He kept checking his phone. Josh heard him pressing buttons.  He heard wrappers.  Smelled onion rings.  A roast beef sandwich.  Josh still felt sick, and he was so hungry.  Josh shifted to get more comfortable, but there was no way with chains.  Josh heard his stomach growl._

_So did He._

_“Jesus, you hungry?”_

_(He said it right that time.  What did it mean?  Don’t move ‘til you know for sure.)_

_“Guess you don’t want this sandwich then..”  He said it like “Oh well…”_

_A tear slipped out, and he was glad his face was covered.  Fake boys didn’t cry.  Josh never did.  Maybe he was still Jesus a little bit.  Just, he couldn’t let Him know that._

_Breathe.  Pretend you’re a statue.  Statues don’t need roast beef.  Statues are tough like rock._

_It was quiet, but Josh could tell He was still there.  His voice was right by Josh’s head then, making him jump:_

_“Open up.  If you bite me again, I’ll break your jaw.  Understand?”_

_Josh opened his mouth just barely.  His hand reached and pulled the thing off his head.  Pushed something between his lips._

_Strawberry hard candy._

_Josh’s eyes widened.  The candy made him know for sure who this was._

_Mariana had seen somebody looking at her once when they were out playing.  (“Creeper alert,” she’d said under her breath, and he had looked up and seen Him watching from His car.)  Josh had suggested they go play out back, but watched the car drive down the street and park in front of Ms. Mitchell’s house.  They hadn’t told Moms.  It was Mother’s Day, and besides, they were used to gross dudes from back when they were little._

_Their eyes met.  He knew Josh knew._

_“Please don’t hurt her…” he begged._

_“That,” He said, “Is up to you.”_

_Josh blanked out again as He came closer._

_It was getting easier._

_And he would do whatever he had to do to protect his sister._

_**Saturday, September 8, 2007** _

_**3:09 AM** _

_**Missing: 16 hours and 9 minutes** _

_Mariana had crawled in bed with Mama when Mom got up.  The floor was hard through her sleeping bag, and Grandma’s house was super loud with old clocks ticking and the TV on, playing their press conference.  She hoped Jesus would see it and come back.  From beside her, Mama sniffed loudly._

_Was she crying?_

_Mariana held her breath until Mama’s evened out.  It took forever.  Mom still wasn’t back.  Mariana squinted and saw a shadow in the dark.  She froze.  Until she saw him lit by the hall light:_

_“Mom,” Brandon said, his voice breaking.  “I need Dad.  I can’t sleep.”_

_“I know you miss Dad, but he can’t be here right now.  He’s at the station.”_

_“But he didn’t do anything wrong!” Brandon exclaimed._

_“Until the police clear him, he can’t leave.”_

_“Why can’t you clear him?  Why can’t he clear himself?  You guys are police!” he whispered, furious._

_“That’s not how this works.  Now, please go lie down.  I’ll be there in a few minutes.”_

_“I told you.  I can’t sleep.  What if someone breaks in?” he asked._

_(Whoa.  Mariana hadn’t thought of that.  They really did need Mike for extra protection.)_

_“No one is going to break in.  Grandma has an alarm system on the house.”_

_Mariana faked sleep, listening as Mom tucked Brandon in again, and pulled the covers over Mariana and Mama on the hide-a-bed.  She listened as Mom’s footsteps got less and less, going in Grandma’s kitchen.  As Brandon’s sniffling stopped and he fell asleep._

_Then, Mariana got up and cracked open the kitchen door.  She saw Mom and Grandma Sharon at the table with cups of coffee.  The TV in the kitchen was on low.  Mariana was seriously thinking about telling Mom everything, when:_

_“…Did I ever tell you about the time I found_ bones _on the side of the highway,” Grandma was saying as she stood to pour more coffee.  “I laid them out on my tailgate and called your dad.  He said he didn’t think they were animal.  We called the vet and sure enough, they were from a kid that had gone missing in the area.  The family contacted us and asked us not to say anything, you know, for their privacy.  Of course we agreed.  I just can’t imagine doing something like that to a child..I feel sick to my stomach thinking about hurting an_ animal _…”_

_Mariana struggled to process the words.  Grandma had found actual kid bones?  What if somebody found Jesus’s bones and thought he was an animal?  Mariana felt like throwing up.  This wasn’t a dream.  It was a nightmare._

_(Would she still be a twin if he died?)_

_She wanted to shut the door and run back to bed but she couldn’t move._

_Mom put her cup down too hard.  “Mom!  Keep your voice down, please!” she whispered.  She looked like she might throw up, too.  (What would Grandma do then?)_

_“Oh, honey,” Grandma said like Mom was being ridiculous.   “I’m telling you this because I’m sure Jesus will be back in no time, not because I think he_ won’t _.  Things could always be worse.  That’s all I’m saying.”_

_“My son is missing. This_ is _worse, Mom.”_

_“Stefanie,” Grandma said, as Mom scraped her chair back._

_Mariana ran back into the living room and got in her sleeping bag.  She couldn’t stop shaking._

_She heard the bathroom door open and close.  Heard Mom throwing up.  Then crying for a second, before the fan turned on and Mariana couldn’t hear anymore.  Mariana covered her head with her pillow._

_“Please be here.  Please,” Mariana said in her head, wishing Jesus would talk back and let her know he was okay._

_But she didn’t hear anything.  Just Mom crying._

_Mariana hadn’t cried at all._

_It was the first time Mariana had ever felt something that was too big for tears._


	18. Chapter 18

**NOW**

**Friday, October 31, 2014**

**Home: 3 years and 17 days**

It’s been a day and Jesus is nowhere near okay.  Things didn’t magically improve the moment that he smelled mac and cheese or got that hug from Frankie.  Jesus is still coughing.  That makes it hard to breathe.

(That makes him think of tape over his mouth.  A hood over his head.)

He just doesn’t feel okay.  And doesn’t know if he will ever feel okay again.

For one thing: Jude, okay?

The kid just makes Jesus nervous.  It doesn’t help that he’s basically inviting a flashback by playing the same violent as crap video game that He got to normalize the kidnapped kid so nobody would suspect.  The thing is, it worked.  Jesus played that game a million times.  Slept over at kids’ houses.  Had dinner with their families.  No one said a word.  But when he came back plenty of their moms went on TV blaming Jesus for not coming to them and talking about how “nice” and “normal” He was.

Explosions sound on screen.  Moms aren’t home.  (Mom’s still at work and Mama’s taking Frankie to buy Halloween candy and run some other errands.  Did he mention he seriously hates Halloween?)  Jude’s boyfriend, Connor, brought this game on the DL.  If they knew the first thing about it, the game and the boyfriend would be out of here.

Jesus tosses the first thing he can reach at Jude’s back.  The pillow grazes him.

“Um…  Throw much?” he asks.

“Turn it off,” Jesus insists.

“No one’s  _making you_  stay here, you know?  You can leave anytime you want.”

Jesus is on his feet and yanking the controller cords out of the console.

“What are you doing, you psycho?!” Jude yells.  “You don’t get to control everything in the house!”

Mariana and her friend, Emma, are there.  Callie is right on their heels.  

“What’s going on?” Callie asks as Mariana hangs back and Emma (all 100 pounds of her) puts herself between Jesus and Jude.

“He’s going all aggro for no reason!” Jude accuses.  “We were just  _playing a game_  and he came out here and started telling us what to do!”

Jesus takes a step forward, but Emma’s there.  Mariana at her side.  “Jesus.  Settle.” Mariana says in a voice like this is serious and he should listen.  “Let’s go,” she says and nods like she expects him to follow.

“No way!  Why do I have to leave?”  Jesus is coughing.  Nervous.

“You don’t  _have to_ , okay?  I’m giving you an out.  You’re not stuck here,” Mariana says firmly.  She’s just managed to tell Jesus a great option without outing him to her friend.  He focuses on her.

Blinking, Jesus nods.  Follows. It’s totally what he needs.

“Maybe you should put the game away,” Callie advises as he’s leaving.

“Why do you need to act like I’m such a terrible person?” Jude calls.  

“Stop it!” Callie hisses.

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause I’m  _always_  the bad guy, even if I didn’t do  _anything wrong_!”

The front door closes behind them, and Jesus tries to breathe.  It won’t help, but he has to try.  Mariana’s wincing.  At first, Jesus thinks it’s because she’s sympathetic, but she’s holding her stomach.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, wishing he didn’t sound so harsh.

“Nothing.  Moms don’t take me seriously, so why should you?” Mariana snaps.

(It’s so not the same as when he’s out here with Moms.  Jesus scans the drive for them.)

“I can go….” Emma offers.  “Take the bad influence home with me…”

Jesus freezes.  Can’t move.  Can’t think.  Not until he hears Mariana laugh:

“Connor could probably use a ride,” she says.

Emma does exactly what she says.  Makes quick work of getting him and his damn game out of there.  

Jesus glances at Mariana.  “Sorry.  Things suck right now.”

She nods.  “Yeah.  They do.”

“So…what’s up with your stomach?” he asks carefully.

“Hurts,” she admits.

Without a word, Jesus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sealed cup of applesauce and a spoon.  Sets it between them with raised eyebrows.

Mariana’s eyes widen.  They don’t talk much, but she definitely gets what a big deal food is to him.  “Jesus…I…  Thank you.  Like, seriously.  But it’s not that.  It’s just been sore all the time lately.”  She scoots the applesauce back an inch in his direction.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks.

“Believe me…and don’t yell at me?” she begs.

“I do believe you.  And I’ll try not to yell.  We should go inside, though.”  He hesitates, and then offers his hand.  

She takes it and they walk inside together.


	19. Chapter 19

“I’m so insighted, Mama!  I’m gonna be Doc McStuffins, remember?  When can we go Trick or Treating?” Frankie asks, stepping onto the porch.

Lena frowns, spotting a carton of applesauce and a spoon abandoned on the porch swing.  She picks them up.  “I know you’re excited, love.  I remember.  We have to eat dinner first, and then we can go.”

“Yay!” Frankie cheers.

Turning the key in the lock, Lena pushes the front door open.  “We’re home,” she announces.  They walk into the kitchen and Lena sees Jesus on his laptop.  “Lose something?” she asks, setting the applesauce down.

“Yeah.  I’m such a numbskull.  Sorry,” he says softly.

At the same time, Jude says, “Yeah!   _His_   _mind_!”

Lena closes her eyes.  Jesus and Jude have never gotten along.  She doesn’t know why, and she doesn’t push Jesus to talk about it, but in the fall, it’s at an all-time high.

Jesus shuts his laptop abruptly and is on his feet, stepping up to Jude.  There was a time when the two were the same size.  Now Jesus has a good four inches in height and substantial muscle on is younger brother.  They stand close, until Frankie moves between them, shoving Jude’s legs until he steps back.

“You stand here,” she instructs.  

“Frankie, honey, why don’t you go hang up your coat?”  When she was alone with Jesus and Jude, she crossed her arms.  

“What is going on?”

“He freaked out on Connor and me!  Throwing stuff and ripping the controllers out of the X-Box!”

Lena turns to Jesus, just waiting.

“You guys wouldn’t have allowed it!  He was playing it while you were gone on purpose!”

“I was not!” Jude exclaims.  

“Jesus, we don’t solve our problems like this.  Apologize to Jude.  Then you need to go pick up whatever you threw and make sure the X-Box is as you found it.  Understand?”

“Fine.  Sorry,” he says, turning and stalking to the living room.

“And, Jude, I want to know about this video game.  So we’re going to talk about it, okay?  Where are your sisters?”

He shrugs.

Lena sighs, gathering her hair up.  “Callie and Mariana,” she calls, walking back out to the foyer to check on Frankie’s progress.  Finds her in the living room, talking Jesus through the ins and outs of Halloween.

“You dress up but it’s not scary.  Then you knock at the door and they give you candy.  Do you want some?”

“No, thanks,” Jesus says.  He’s methodically rolling up the excess cord around the X-Box controllers.  

(Lena has got to find something he’ll eat.)

Back in the kitchen, she spies Callie, her phone out.  She’s arranging their pears in a bowl on the kitchen table.  Aiming.  Tapping.

“Callie.  You don’t need to be taking pictures of our fruit right now.  I need you to help.  Where’s Mariana?”

“She doesn’t feel well…” Callie says, tucking her phone in her pocket.  “Listen, I get why Jesus can’t help with kitchen stuff…but why is it always Mariana and me who are asked to help get dinner on the table?”

“Callie, I don’t have time for this.  If you have something to say, say it.”

“Fine.  Don’t you think you and Mom are being a little misogynistic?”

“Excuse me?” Lena’s mouth drops open.

“Brandon’s the oldest.  He’s just upstairs in his room.  How come nobody expects him to help?”

“It’s not my place to–”

“So you can’t ask him, but I can?  Last night, when you and Mom and Jesus were gone?  Brandon helped.  Because I wasn’t about to do all the work myself, and he saw I was serious.  You expect so much from me and Mariana, but you expect nothing from him.  It’s not fair.”

“There are chores we do lean on Brandon for.  He mows for us.”

“Okay, and that’s a big job.  He does it every week or two.  But so is getting dinner on the table for eight people  _most nights_  by myself.”  Even as she speaks, Callie’s getting bowls out of the cupboard for taco toppings.  She goes to the refrigerator and takes out a head of lettuce.  She focuses all of her anger on the task at hand, ripping pieces off and setting them in the bowl.  Next she is taking out a block of Monterey Jack cheese and a grater.

“We have shredded cheese,” Lena says, half annoyed, half helpful.

“I need to destroy something,” Callie says, with an eerie calm.

Lena waits until she’s got a good rhythm going, and then tries again to figure out what Callie’s issue is:

“So you’d like to mow the grass?”

“I’d like to be asked.  I’d like to learn so that someday, when I have my own family, I’m not expecting my husband to do it because no one ever taught me, while he expects me to get dinner on the table by 6:30.”

“That’s enough,” Lena says, hoping to cut off Callie’s rant.

“Yeah, it is for me, too.  It’s more than enough.  Did you know that the kids at school joke about Frankie being Mariana’s  _daughter_?”

This stops Lena.  She turns from the stove where she’s browning meat for tacos.

“Yeah.  Mariana gets asked to hang out with friends.  To go out on dates.  And she turns it all down because she knows you and Mom need her to watch Frankie.”

“Mom and I will sit down with you later, okay, and discuss this.  You clearly have a lot you need to express.”

“Before or after you sit down with Jude, and hang out on the porch with Jesus?  You know what?  Don’t bother.  I’d rather you didn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Surprise!  The doctor will see you now!”  Frankie appears suddenly in a backwards white coat.  A toy stethoscope is slung over one arm.  “Who’s ready to get some candy?”

Lena turns to Callie to share a smile - a small truce - but Callie has busied herself, effectively shutting Lena out.


	20. Chapter 20

**_THEN_ **

**_Thursday, October 20, 2011_ **

**_Home: 6  days_ **

_It turned out, Jesus was nothing like Mariana or Moms said he was.  Jesus in pictures and YouTube videos was funny and nice.  This Jesus was crabby and annoying.  He followed Moms around and hogged Frankie all to himself, but was a jerk to the rest of them._

_He was almost 13 and a half, like Mariana, but she was taller than him.  Jude was almost 11 and Jesus was only a little bit bigger than that.  Jude liked the family better before Jesus got there._

_Dinner was just getting over.  Jude helped Mama make homemade pizza.  It was so good, but Jesus wouldn’t eat it.  He was so rude.  At least now, he was making up for it.  Jesus made everybody else leave the kitchen so he could clean up all by himself, even though he stood behind his chair this whole meal.  (Usually, Moms could get him to sit down and eat, but not tonight.)_

_Mike was here for pizza and to take Brandon to the batting cages.  They were just about to leave and Jude was desperate to go, too.  Anything to get him away from Jesus and his stress._

_“Can I go, too?” he asked.  (He had run up to his room to get ready, so they wouldn’t even have to wait for him.)_

_“You don’t even_ like  _baseball…” Callie pointed out._

_“I might if I tried it,” Jude insisted.  “Please, okay?  I’ll be good,” he bargained.  “I’ll be so quiet you won’t even know I’m there.”_

_“Yeah, we won’t, ‘cause you’re not going,” Brandon said.  (Rude again.  Jude had the rudest brothers.)_

_“B…” Mom reprimanded mildly._

_“What?  He’s got all his Padres stuff on like this is a thing.  When it’s not.”  Brandon turned to glower at Jude: “He’s not your dad.”_

_Jude’s face crumbled.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t fair that Brandon got to be with his dad when Jude never got to be with his for four whole years.  Frankie started crying, too, because she was a baby._

_“Jude, come on.  I’ll help you study your states and capitals,” Callie encouraged, putting an arm around him._

_“No!” Jude sobbed, pushing her away and running upstairs to his room.  He didn’t look at Brandon’s side._

_He could hear footsteps - Mike on the stairs, with his keys out - Jude kept the tears inside so he could hear whatever he said.  Maybe he would say Jude could go after all?_

_(“Should I just talk to him?” he was asking._

_“No, Dad, let’s just go,” Brandon pressed.)_

_“Get in the closet,” a voice whispered.  Jude blinked._

_Jesus.  A knife._

_“Right now.  Move.  You’d better keep your mouth shut,” he said, the knife at Jude’s back.  (And he said the F-word once in every sentence.)  Jesus grabbed Jude’s arm, and dragged him to the closet, shoving him inside with the knife right up to him.  “Don’t even think about coming out ‘til I say!”_

_The doors closed, and Jesus turned away.  Jude watched him through  the slats in the closet door.  Watched him stick the little paring knife down the back of his pants.  He wondered how it didn’t cut him, or cut a hole in his jeans.  Jude’s heart was beating out of control._

_Where were Moms?  Where was Callie?_

_“Oh.  Jesus.” Mama said, walking into Jude’s room.  “Where’s Jude?”_

_Jude wanted to yell for help but he couldn’t talk.  Between all the F-words and the knife and Jesus being so quiet and mean, Jude was scared.  It was just like the one house they lived in before the Fosters.  The dad, Jim, used to threaten them.  And beat them up, too.  Jude hoped Jesus wouldn’t beat him up.  Or cut him with his knife._

_“I don’t know,” Jesus said, like he lied all the time.  Like he had no idea Jude was in the closet._

_Jude wanted to yell, but Jesus was right there, and he still had the knife.  Would he hurt Mama?_

_“I can help you look for him,” Jesus volunteered, and walked with Mama right out of the room, turning the light off as he went.  He pulled the door closed behind them.  Totally dark.  Jude hated the dark._

_When he heard them walk downstairs, Jude pushed at the closet door.  It wouldn’t open.  Jude swallowed.  Jesus must have locked it.  He didn’t want to think about what Jesus would do if he caught Jude trying to break out.  He tapped on the wall.  He’d learned about Morse code from Grandpa Frank.  He knew S.O.S. - the distress signal that meant “save our ship.”_

_Jude tapped: three short, three long, three short.  He counted to five, and then did it again.  He did it until the light flipped on, and closet door was opened._

_“Callie,” he breathed._

_“Jude, what are you doing in here?”_

_He pushed past her.  “I need Moms.  Where’s Jesus?”_

_“Looking for you.  He’s checking the yard, I think.”_

_Jude ran downstairs and directly into Mama.  “Jesus locked me in the closet!” he said, indignant, tears still in his eyes._

_“What?” Mama asked._

_“He had a knife, and he dragged me in there.  He said not to say anything and he also said the F-word._ A lot. _”  Jude couldn’t stop talking.  His body was shaking even though he was safe.  He didn’t feel safe with Jesus around.  Maybe half safe._

_“Okay,” Mama walked him back upstairs and into Callie and Mariana’s room.  They were playing with Frankie and doing homework.  “I need you guys to stay here.  Lock this door.  Do you understand?”_

_Jude felt like that movie Groundhog’s Day - his dad liked that one - where the same thing happened over and over again. Mama must’ve seen something on Jude’s face, because she took it in her hands and kissed his forehead._

_“Mom and I need to talk to Jesus right now.  And we need to know you’re all safe while we do it.”_

_“What about you?” Jude asked._

_“What’s happening?” Mariana was on her feet, looking freaked out._

_“I need you to do as I say right now.  Mom will knock on the door when it’s safe.”_

_Callie and Mariana went to the door right away, and tried to listen.  Jude held Frankie, trying to cuddle her.  It was the first time in days he got to hold her.  He loved being a big brother.  Unfortunately, she wasn’t about that, and whined, pushing him away:_

_“Night-Night,” she pouted, tearing up._

_When Frankie was born, and finally big enough to have toys, Mariana tried to pass along her own baby blanket.  It was nothing more than a cloth with holes and Frankie never bonded with it.  Eventually, Moms bought her a soft, pink blanket with silky edges.  Frankie_ loved  _it.  And even though she hadn’t bonded with Mariana’s blanket, her name for it stuck._

_Both Mariana and Frankie now had baby blankets named Night-Night._

_(Jude had a stuffed bear, but no one had to know about that.  Not named Night-Night, for the record.)_

_“She wants your_ rag _,” Jude teased._

_“No, she doesn’t,” Mariana snapped, “and don’t talk about her that way!”  Even though it was way serious, when he got around Mariana, he could never stay serious.  Jude learned in therapy, some people laughed when they were nervous, and some people coped with humor._

_He wasn’t sure which he and Mariana were._

_“Seriously, what’s happening?” she asked, pacing.  Callie still had her ear to the door, listening._

_Jude handed Frankie to Mariana and talked to the baby directly.  It was easier than asking his older sisters for permission._

_“I’m gonna go get your Night-Night, okay?”_

_“Night-Night?” Frankie asked sadly._

_“Yeah.  You stay here with sissies, okay?  I’ll be right back.”_

_“Jude.  What are you doing?” Callie asked.  “Mama said don’t go out there.”_

_“Don’t worry.  I’m just going to Moms’ room and I’ll be right back.”  He didn’t give Callie a chance to argue.  He cracked open the door and stole across the hall.  He heard the girls’ bedroom door shut behind him.  Checked out Moms’ room._

_No Night-Night._

_Dang it._

_Jude crept to the stairs and down a few.  He spotted the pink blanket about halfway down and imagined Frankie tossing her blanket over the baby gate and being so sad.  He crouched, picking it up, and then saw Moms and Jesus walking into the living room._

_Rushing to return the blanket to the girls, Jude ding-dong-ditched it, knocking and leaving it outside the door.  Then he moved quietly about halfway down._

_Scooting back up a few stairs so they couldn’t see him, but he could see them, Jude stayed quiet.  He turned his phone on silent but kept it out, in case he needed to call for backup.  Callie had been brave for him.  Now he could be brave for her.  (Plus, he really wanted to see how much trouble Jesus would get in for what he did.  Jim got arrested.  Would Stef arrest Jesus?  Probably not, but he might get grounded, or yelled at, or both.)_

_“Come here and sit down,” Mama invited, like everything was normal.  Jude watched as Jesus reached behind him.  Jude’s pulse beat like crazy.  But Jesus just moved the knife a little and sat.  Moms didn’t know it was even there._

_“We gotta find Jude, though, right?” Jesus asked._

_“Jude is fine.” Mom paused.  “Jesus, we need ask you a question and we need you to be honest with us.”_

_They were kind of in a line: Jesus, then Mom, then Mama.  Mom looked like she might be blocking Mama from Jesus._

_“Do you have a knife?”_

_“No,” he said, like he never did one bad thing in his entire life.  But Jude saw it.  How his hand went to his back pocket and stayed there._

_“I need you to set the knife down on the coffee table right now,” Mom said.  Jude recognized her serious voice.  They called it her cop voice.  She used it at work and sometimes at home, if she had to._

_“I_ need it _,” Jesus said in a matching low voice.  It reminded Jude of Callie’s when she got scared, but on Jesus it sounded mean._

_“You_ don’t _need it, love.  You are safe here.”  Mom said._

_“Jesus, can you look at me?”  Mama tried.  She walked around Mom, calm, and stopped right in front of Jesus like she wasn’t scared at all.  “Do you know where you are?”_

_“He’s here,” Jesus said, swallowing._

_(Mike?)_

_Mom and Mama exchanged a look._

_“I heard him on the stairs and had to, okay?!  I had to do it to protect him!  He was gonna be so pissed and nobody was there but us!  I_ had _to protect Jacob!”_

_Jude felt weird inside.  Jacob was his middle name.  But Jesus wouldn’t know that, since he just got back.  Who did Jesus think he was protecting? And why did Jesus think Mike was so bad?_

_“Jesus?_ Jude _is your brother, honey,” Mama was saying slowly like he might be having problems understanding._

_Instead of answering, Jesus stared right through her, his hand never moving from his pocket._

_Even though his hands were shaking, Jude texted Mama one word:_

911?

_Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out slowly, telling Jesus what she was doing.  She looked around like everything was fine, and finally, found Jude on the stairs.  They locked eyes._

_She texted back.  It said:_

Call Dr. Hitchens.   _(There was a phone number.)_ Say we have an urgent situation with Jesus and have her call me on my cell.  Now.

_Jude didn’t trust his voice. What if Jesus heard him talking?  Thinking fast, he forwarded the text to Callie, with a dash, and Mama after it, so she’d know who it was from._

_“He is not here, Jesus, I promise you.  He’s in jail.” Mom said._

_“He broke out!” Jesus said, close to tears._

_A text came through to Jude’s phone.  Callie had done it.  Mama’s phone rang in the living room._

_“He did not break out. I’m a cop.  It’s my job to know these things,” Mom tried._

_“Not right now, you’re not a cop.  Where’s your uniform?” Jesus challenged.  (Duh. Even Jude knew she didn’t wear it all the time.)_

_“I have to take this,” Mama said, but she didn’t leave the room.  She stood two steps away, her eyes on Jesus, and talked in a relaxed voice._

_“Hi.  Yes, we do.  Yes.  That’s right.  Jesus?  Dr. Hitchens is on the phone.  Would you like me to hand it to you, or put it on speaker?”_

_“What?” he asked, obviously not expecting that.  And then, “Speaker.”_

_“Hi Jesus.  This is Dr. Hitchens.  How are you feeling?”_

_“There,” Jesus said in a voice that sounded empty.  His face looked scary._

_“That must be very confusing.  Do you know I’ve spoken to some boys who have been through situations that are long and frightening like yours.  Things were very confusing for them for awhile.”_

_“Really?” Jesus asked._

_(How did the doctor_ know _this stuff?  Was she psychic?)_

_“Really.”_

_“I have a knife,” he offered.  (Finally!  Jude waited for Moms to take it off him.)_

_“Tell me more about that.”_

_Jude watched, both fascinated and terrified, as Jesus took the knife out and just held it.  “I got it from the kitchen.”_

_“Do you want to hurt yourself or someone else?” Dr. Hitchens asked._

_“No.  Protect,” Jesus managed._

_“I see.  Do you see your mothers in the room with you?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“That means you are not there.  You’re safe.  Your mothers are there to protect you.  You don’t need any weapons right now.  So I would like you to do one of three things for me.  Your choice.  You can carefully give the knife to Stef.  You can carefully give it to Lena.  Or you can place it on the coffee table and take two big steps back.  Which do you want to do?”_

_“I’m scared…” Jesus admitted.  “I think he got out of jail.”_

_(No, he wasn’t scared._ Scary _, maybe, not_ scared _.)_

_“That’s reasonable, given your experience, but he is still in jail.  Think about the three choices.”_

_(She actually waited for him to think.)_

_Then she said, “Which do you feel most comfortable with?”_

_“Coffee table,” he muttered._

_“All right.”_

_Jude listened as the doctor talked him through setting the knife down and stepping back.  He turned, and nearly collided with Callie, on the steps behind him._

_They got back to the girls’ room.  Frankie was sleeping and Mariana looked pale and worried._

_“He had a knife,” Callie reported.  “But he put it down.”  She moved to carry Frankie across the hall to Moms’ room and put her down to sleep._

_Jude just stared Mariana’s eyes filled with tears.  “What happened to him?” she said it like she was begging.  “My brother doesn’t do crap like this…”_

_“He said he thought he was protecting someone, but I don’t believe it…” Jude said firmly.  Nobody protected somebody else by threatening them.  It didn’t make sense and sounded like just another excuse._

_After forever, there was a knock at the bedroom door._

_“Dr. Hitchens is here.  Mom is downstairs with her and Jesus.” Mama said._

_“What’s going to happen to him?” Jude asked.  “You know, for pulling a knife on me?”_

_“Jude.  When I tell you to stay put, I need you to stay put.  You put yourself in real danger.  Jesus is getting help.  And I need all of you to listen to me closely.  Part of the help Jesus needs is to be able to trust Mom and I will keep him safe.”_

_“What about me?” Jude asked, hurt._

_“_ And _, we need you guys to be safe while we do that.  That’s why I need you each to pack a bag with some clothes and whatever else you’ll need for spending the night away.  I called Grams and Grandpa Adams, okay?  And they’re glad to have you stay.  Callie and Mariana, make sure everyone has their backpacks.  Toothbrushes.  Okay?  I’ll pack for Frankie and Brandon.  When Mike comes back, everybody be ready.  I want you to go downstairs and outside quietly.  Don’t disturb Jesus in the kitchen.”_

_“Can we kiss Mom goodbye?” Callie asked.  Jude felt cold.  He knew she was asking because she hadn’t kissed their mom goodbye and she ended up dying.  It made them have to always kiss Moms goodbye._

_“Of course.  I want you guys to know we love you, okay?  And we are doing this because we love you.  Because we want you to be safe.”_

_“Then why can’t Jesus just go?” Jude asked, angry._

_“Jude,” Callie scolded.  “Seriously?”_

_“Yes._ He _attacked_ me _and_ I _have to go away.  That’s not fair.”_

_“Honey, Jesus has been away a very long time.  If he had to go away now, it could be very bad for him.”_

_“Good, it_ should _be.  He made me go in the closet by putting a knife to me, dragging me and swearing at me.  He lied and told you he didn’t know where I was.  He locked the closet and turned off the light.  Why is it okay that he did that but not that I’m upset about it?” he blinked back tears._

_Mama wrapped him in her arms.  “It’s not okay, love.  Not at all.  I’m so sorry that happened to you.  It makes sense you’re mad, okay?  That you’re hurt.”_

_“But I still have to go…” Jude guessed.  “And he gets to stay.”_

_Jude walked to his room and got an overnight bag, thinking about leaving his real house in first grade.  Then Jim’s in second grade, with bruises under his clothes._

_He knew this was different.  But it didn’t_ feel  _different._


	21. Chapter 21

**_THEN_ **

**_Friday, November 18, 2011_ **

**_Home:  1 month and 4 days_ **

_Stef was awake at 6:00 each morning.  Habit.  Not from years on the job but the past month on leave from work to be with Jesus.  Every morning, he woke then, even without an alarm clock._

_At least now that she had removed his door, he felt more confident coming out of his room in the morning.  They had also removed his bed, at his request and maybe because of that, this morning, Jesus slept._

_They had worked on so much: figuring out limits, triggers, how to let Jesus know it was safe to ask for clarification, if something did not make sense.  (Just yesterday, he had sat down at the kitchen table with a notebook and pushed it across to her.  In it were countless questions about their Household Expectations.  Stef patiently answered each one.)  They worked on showing him it was safe to respond to his name, and that it was not a trick._

_She was getting used to having their kitchen knives, scissors, and anything else that could be construed as a weapon locked in her bedroom gun safe.  She started each day checking the doors and windows, so that when Jesus woke up, she could do it with him, and show him they were safe.  She did the same in the evening._

_Stef put coffee on, and stepped into the bathroom to shower.  Her phone buzzed on the sink, when she was halfway through washing her hair and covered in suds._

_“Damn it.”_

_Desperate, she grabbed a towel and dried her hands, making a grab for the phone._

_“Hello?” she asked._

_“Stef?  This is Dr. Holly Hitchens.  I have some important news.  Is it possible for me to stop by today?”_

_“Of course.  What kind of news?”_

_“Chris Mitchell is dead.  He killed himself in prison early this morning.”_

_Stef blinked.  “Okay.  Sure.  Should we tell Jesus?”_

_“Tell him I’ll be there soon, but no specifics, please.  This could be very difficult for him.”_

_Stef swallowed her joy.  Her absolute elation that the bastard who abused, terrorized and traumatized her son for more than four years was no longer a threat.  “How so?”_

_“We were preparing for trial.  Jesus was accepting the fact that is abductor would be locked up for a very long time.  That he could never get out.”_

_“He didn’t,” Stef pointed out._

_“Right but this still changes what Jesus expects.  He might feel anger or terror or joy.  We really won’t know.  But it’s important he is told right away.”_

_“I agree,” Stef said._

_An hour later, Stef had awakened Lena and Jesus.  (Lena got an update.  Jesus got an edited update.)  They ate an early breakfast, though Jesus was nervous at the change in schedule and picked at his._

_“Why is she coming over?” Jesus asked, wringing his hands under the table.  “I don’t have any knives, I swear.  You can search me.”_

_Stef’s stomach sank.  Just when she thought they were making progress, Jesus would say something like this and Stef was faced with just how far they had to go._

_“I know that, love.  And I’m very proud of you.  You’re not in trouble.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  This is something else.”_

_“You said I wasn’t in trouble,” Jesus insisted, his eyes wide with fear._

_“If something I said is making you scared, it’s not on purpose,” Stef reassured.  “Which part is making you feel unsafe?”_

_“Something Else…” Jesus ventured, keeping his eyes down._

_“That’s right.  Jesus, you told me about this once, didn’t you?  You said ‘something else’ was a punishment, right?  From before?” Lena asked._

_“Yeah.  I didn’t know what it was really called Then, so I called it Something Else,” Jesus shrugged._

_“We aren’t going to hurt you.  You are not in trouble.  Okay?  I misspoke,” Stef clarified._

_Jesus nodded, finally relaxing._

_“Let’s talk about something positive,” Lena suggested.  “Jesus, what do you want to talk about?”_

_“Jude’s birthday?”_

_Stef raised her eyebrows.  At first, they could barely mention Jude’s name._

_“Yeah?  What’s positive about Jude’s birthday?” Lena asked._

_“He gets one.  That’s good.”_

_Stef and Lena made eye contact.  Lena blinked back tears._

_“Yeah, that’s very good.”_

_“Will_ I _?” Jesus asked, tone measured, eyes on his plate._

_“Of course, love.  You and Mariana can celebrate together in six months.”_

_Jesus smiled.  It was the first Stef could remember seeing that was not a fear smile._

_They were waiting in the living room when the doorbell rang.  Jesus sent a worried look Stef’s way and she got up to answer the door._

_“Hi, Holly, good to see you!” Stef greeted, like it was any other day._

_They moved to the living room - Dr. Hitchens wasted no time.  She talked Jesus through grounding and breathing exercises they did each time he came to the office, to be sure he knew where he was and that he was fully safe._

_Then she said: “I have something to tell you.  It may be very hard to hear.  I want to keep looking at me while I speak.  Keep breathing.  Stay aware.  Do you need anything to be different before I start?” she asks._

_“Is He coming to get me?” Jesus asked, eyes wide._

_“No.”_

_“Okay.  Then, just tell me.”_

_“Chris Mitchell died this morning.”_

_“So?” Jesus asked._

_Dr. Hitchens didn’t react.  She waited._

_“Who killed Him?” Jesus wondered._

_“He killed Himself,” Dr. Hitchens said._

_Jesus’s face darkened._

_“What are you feeling?  Can you name it?” Dr. Hitchens asked gently._

_“IT’S NOT FAIR!”  Jesus exploded, leaping to his feet, fists clenched, body shaking.  “I wanted Him to know how it feels!  I wanted Him to suffer!  To wish He could die but never get to!  I wanted Him to…I wanted…”_

_The screaming stopped and he got pale, clamping a hand over his mouth.  He ran to the bathroom, slamming the door. Stef prayed he didn’t lock himself in.  Instead, they all heard him getting sick._

_Stef looked at Lena.  Horror showed clearly on her face._

_“I know it’s a strong reaction, but the fact that Jesus feels safe to express his anger around you is a very positive sign.  We just need to be sure he doesn’t isolate.  Is there one of you he prefers when he’s vulnerable?”_

_Lena raised her hand.  “He needs Stef when he’s physically vulnerable, but he can let his guard down emotionally a bit better with me.”_

_“Okay, so Stef.  I’d like you to stay where you are.  Lena, stand up and go to the bathroom door.  Knock and tell Jesus you need him to open it and come out, to be sure he’s safe.  Use his name.”_

_Stef watched, as Lena executed the steps beautifully:_

_“Jesus?  It’s Mama.  I need you to open the door and come out.  I need to know you’re safe.”_

_Seconds passed.  Agonizingly slow seconds._

_Finally the knob turned._

_Jesus crawled out on hands and knees.  Crying so hard he wasn’t making noise at all.  Just gasping.  Everything in Stef wanted to run to him.  To comfort him.  To bring that son-of-a-bitch back to life so she could kill Him again for all the ways He hurt their son._

_Lena, though, kept her head.  Listening to Holly’s directions and kneeling near Jesus.  Then asking, “Do you need me to hold you?”_

_Jesus nodded, still wrecked emotionally.  He crawled over to her, allowing Lena to wrap her arms around him.  In seconds, though, he stiffened, screaming “Time!” like an overwrought ref and Lena let go._

_“Mom,” he gasped.  “I need Mom…”_

_Stef forced herself to move like she was at work.  Work pace.  Work demeanor.  Work everything. But when she got to her son, all that fell away, and her mothering instinct came back strong.  She did everything as Lena had.  Jesus came to her, and laid his head in her lap.  He clutched at her, gasping out the same two words._

_“Slow breaths, Jesus.  Slow down.  I’m right here.  You’re safe.”_

_It took long minutes before she was able to make out his words.  And when she finally could they broke her heart:_

_“He won, Mom…It’s not fair.  He won…”_

_Stef cradled him in her arms, the way she never could, because he’d been big for five, and standoffish about hugs, even in the beginning._

_“He didn’t win, my love.  He didn’t.”  She rocked him.  Her tears falling into his hair.  “You won, Jesus.  Because you’re alive.  You’re stronger than He was, you know that?”_

_He clung to her tighter.  His breathing eventually evening out._

_“You won,” Stef repeated softly.  “You won, and now you’re home and you can live with us forever and ever, if that’s that’s what you want.”_

_“I just want this right now,” he managed, between gasps.  “Just you.”_

_“Then you have me.  A_ s _long as it feels safe, okay?  I promise.  You have me.”_


	22. Chapter 22

**NOW**

**Friday, October 31, 2014**

**Home:  3 years and 17 days**

If there is an up side to being sick now, it’s having access to medicine when Jesus needs it.  There’s a comfort in it.  He’s got meds for anxiety and more for bronchitis.  

Even though it sucked going to the doctor, it was good to have it as an option.  To have the opportunity to get meds when he needs them.  Most even require him to eat before taking them, which is a bonus.  Not that Jesus is a huge fan of Callie’s rage tacos.

Jesus heard her calling Mama out.  (Hell, the whole  _house_  heard it.)  And even though he’s been out for a while now, raised voices and challenges still make him anxious.  Jesus heard his name mentioned and wished everybody would just leave him out of it.  Obviously, he was already in enough trouble after barely touching Jude with a pillow and taking his own anger out on the X-Box and not Jude, like he really wanted.

He’s trying so hard, and it’s like nobody gets it.  Well, Mariana does.  And that’s something.

Jesus checks the time again.  Early.  They were eating early.  Yet another reason to absolutely hate Halloween.  It messed with the schedule.  Even though eating early didn’t make Jesus nearly as nervous as eating late did, the date and the fact that he was sick were enough to deal with.  He didn’t need one more thing.

“We’re eating early?” he ask Callie, when what he really wanted to say was that the change in schedule made him hella nervous.

“What?” Callie asks, glancing up from setting the table  “I mean, yeah.  What’s it look like?”

“I kinda need you to not be distracted when you talk to me?” It’s a question because her response is a bit too close to being called a dumbass for his liking.

“Well, I’m sorry, Jesus, but that’s life sometimes.  If you don’t want me to be distracted, wait ‘til I’m  _not_  to be Captain Obvious…”

He winces.

Dinner’s more chaotic than usual and Mom’s not home, because they’re eating early.  Jesus is glad Frankie’s got an apron on over her costume - they have to say apron, not bib -  or Frankie will throw a fit because  _she’s not a baby, okay_?  

(He can’t look at costumes.  He has reasons.)

Mariana looks like she’s perked up a little by now, at least.  She meets his gaze and raises her eyebrows before taking his plate and filling it with chips, salsa, and one of each kind of taco.

“There’s more if you want it,” she says quietly, filling the empty chair beside him.  He kinda loves how he can count on her to just step up and fill in as his person (Mariana watches so much Grey’s that the catchphrases are rubbing off on him even though he doesn’t watch) if Mom’s not there.  It’s not the same, but he needs somebody.  And he can handle a little more feedback from Mari, because they’re the same age. So it’s different than having an adult telling him stuff.

In between trying to get an invite to some Halloween party the seniors are having, Mariana checks in with him.  She can tell something’s up.  Raises her eyebrows at him again.  

He can read it on her face:

_What’s wrong?_

Under the table, he takes out his phone and sends her a text:

_Callie’s pissed at me._

Mariana doesn’t know much about what went down with him There.  But she gets that his issues are complex and that he is super sensitive around food.

“ _I_  gave this to you, remember?  If she’s pissed at someone, she’ll be pissed at me.  So pick something and take a bite.  You gotta eat in order to take your meds and cure that,” she urges gently, making a face as he hacks.

Jesus hesitates.  Picks up the soft shell taco and takes a bite.  It’s good, but he’s still nervous as hell.

After dinner, he clears out.  Mom gets home, and disappears into the bedroom to change into her costume.  (She and Mama are going as Anna and Elsa from Frozen.  Frankie’s thrilled about getting candy with Moms all dressed up.)

Jesus isn’t.  People in costumes get to him so much that they don’t leave their porch light on for Trick or Treaters.  That many strangers at the door, dressed up, so they could be anyone?  It messes with Jesus’s mind.

They avoided that complication, but having people in costume in the house freaked Jesus out.  He makes himself scarce, and scarcer still when Callie gets the camera out to take pics of Elsa, Anna, and Doc.

He’s on his laptop in the kitchen - there’s another message from Ethan insisting Jesus is awful - seriously why won’t this kid stop writing?  Jesus can vaguely hear Frankie making the rounds, showing off her costume for oohs and aahs, while Moms see off Brandon and Callie to that party and Jude to Connor’s.

“Jesus!   _Time for your checkup!  Time for your checkup!_ ” Frankie sings.  

Her lab coat is on straight and her hair’s in pigtails.  Jesus knows because Mama made sure she looked right before she let Callie take any pictures.  He bets she’s adorable, but he can’t look at her.  He has a serious doctor trigger and he doesn’t need a repeat of yesterday.

“Look at me, Jesus!  I’m a real doctor!”

He focuses on closing down his email screen so Moms won’t see.  Stiffens as he feels Frankie climb up on the chair next to him.

“Open up!  Gotta take your temperature!” Frankie says.

( _Open up.  And if you even think about biting me, I’ll break your damn jaw.  Understand?_ )

“Don’t  _touch me_!” he exclaims, leaping up and backing off.

In the chair beside him, Frankie jumps, startled at the sudden shift in volume.   He gets out of there as he hears the crying start.  Upstairs and down the hall, and into his room.   He’s tearing it apart in his search for headphones to block out her crying when he hears Mom:

“Jesus?  I need you to come out here now, please.”

He steels himself.  No headphones if he has to listen to Mom.

“What?” he asks.  It’s rough.  Sounds irritated.  But that’s what freaked out sounds like too.  She’s not Mom, she’s Anna, and it’s so weird he has to look away.

“Your sister loves you.  I understand this is not a good time for you, but she doesn’t.  You scared her.  She just wanted to show you her costume, love!  She just wanted to be acknowledged!”

“She’s _a doctor_ ,” Jesus stresses each word.

“Honey, it’s  _pretend_ ,” Mom/Anna says.  “You know the difference.  Now, Mama and I are going to take Frankie Trick or Treating.  We’ll be back in half an hour at the most.  Mariana is here, so you’re not by yourself.  But I am serious, Jesus, you need to do something to make this right.”

She turns and walks down the hall, leaving Jesus there with words crowding his brain.  Words from Him:

_“What’ll you give me in return? Nothing’s free.”_

_“Are you gonna do something, or am I?”_

His heart beats fast.  Hears the blood start to rush.  Level 3.  Not again.  

He can’t do this again.


	23. Chapter 23

It takes every ounce of Jesus’s energy and focus to take out his phone and text Mariana.  Not words.  Just a firework emoji.  Even though she doesn’t know a lot about this, and even though they hurt each other trying to just figure out how to be around each other now, they’ve promised if one of them ever needed the other - really needed them - they would drop whatever drama they had going on and show up.  To take whatever it is totally seriously.

About once a year, Jesus has had to text Mariana fireworks.  It’s the easiest thing that conveys what his brain and body feel like at Level 3.  He can’t get his breath.  He feels kind of numb.  He feels frozen.

Even though he can’t hear her, Jesus sees her in front of him.  He knows she’s knocked and said it’s her and that she’s coming to help.  It’s what they discussed in the office.  It’s what he needs. He needs to be able to trust that she’ll do things the same every time.  That he can predict her actions even when he can’t hear her.

Jesus is skittish, but she takes his hands and guides him to sit on the floor across from her.  She’s making her breathing really intentional.  Really obvious.  It’s for him to copy.  Slow and deep.  She still has his hands and she’s squeezing.

“I’ve got you, Jesus.  It’s okay.  It’s Mari.  You’re with me.”  

She’s the absolute best at showing him calm and in control when he is neither.  (Mama’s always a little too soft.  And there are times, like just now, that Mom is too firm and rushes, when he needs her to be deliberate.  When he needs her to be clear on what she means.)

Because he and Mariana lived through their own trauma together before coming here - and because they’re both used to being calm in the midst of crazy levels of chaos, he can trust her to anchor him.  She’s got even more years of therapy under her belt than he does, and it shows.

When he’s chaos, she’s calm, and vice versa.  They just balance each other out, like it’s no big deal.

There are tears in his eyes because he has the same You’re Gonna Die feeling he had Then.  That first day.  This can’t happen again.  Not here.  He can’t breathe and it kinda feels like his heart’s going to explode.  He can’t even talk.  He just looks at her.  Desperate.

“This is a panic attack.  You’ve had them before.  They feel awful, but you’re not dying.  Okay?  I promise.  Can you match me?  See if our breathing can be twins?” she says, offering a small smile.

It’s just what he needs to hear  Slowly, the rushing stops.  He can feel his body again, bit by bit.  And, most important, he can breathe.  They are totally in sync.  It’s a twin thing.  They’re just looking at each other and it feels weirdly intimate but not gross at all.  Like their souls are touching.

When he feels more present, he starts to talk, and can’t stop.  Mariana calls this part Phase 2: Word Vomit.  It’s because he can’t shut up.  He starts talking about Jude and the video game.  Then Callie and dinner.  Then Frankie and Halloween and doctors and going to the doctor yesterday.

He’s still talking  when Mariana squeezes his hands.  “I’m calling pause because you need to breathe between these words. So you breathe.  Slowly.  And I’ll see if we’ve got our twin brain activated or not.  You can let me know in a minute or something if I’m misunderstanding you.”

Jesus nods.  Focuses on Mariana’s face.  On his own breathing.  She waits a while for them to sync up again and then offers, her voice still grounded but full of compassion:  “It sounds like you’ve had a ton of triggers.”

He exhales.  “Yeah…” he admits.

“So you’re probably feeling really unsafe.”

He nods again.  (It’s easier than talking.)

“Okay.  Is there something specific that freaked you out?  Something I can help explain or clarify?”

Jesus lets go of her hands long enough to grab the yellow fleece and drape it around his shoulders.  Then, he comes back and takes her hands again.  Their knees are touching.  He takes a breath:  “Mom said something…” he hedges.

“What exactly?  Can you tell me?  Think about twinning our voices, yeah?  Match my tone.  Not  _what_  you’re saying but  _how_ you’re saying it.”

Jesus really concentrates. “She said: ‘I am serious, Jesus, you need to do something to make this right.”  He exhales.  It worked.

“Okay.  What was she talking about?” Mariana quizzes.

One second, Jesus is thinking, and the next, he starts to drift.  Mom’s words repeat in his head.  

Then they distort and sound like His:

( _Do something.  Do something.  DO SOMETHING_.)

The rushing is gonna start up any minute.  But Mariana squeezes his hands.

“Hey.  Jesus Gabriel,” she says firmly.  “You’re on a mission here, right?  Like a scavenger hunt.  Your trauma is that little jerk who keeps telling you the clue is up a tree and over a canyon.  But really, if we just keep going straight, we’ll find the next clue.  Can you stay focused?”

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Next clue: What were you and Mom talking about when she said the thing to you?” Mariana asks, like there’s no rush.

“Frankie…I think?”

Mariana nods.  “Was it because she got scared?”

“Yeah… _I_  scared her,” Jesus remembers.

“Okay so Mom wants you to make things right with Frankie,” Mariana reviews, slower than she usually would, to make the words sink in.

“Is it?”

“Is what?” she asks.

“Is that what she meant?” Jesus asks, pausing to cough.

“Yes.  I’m 99.9% sure that’s what she meant, but if you need to clarify that with her, we can.  Or you guys can one-on-one.”

He shakes his head.  “ _You_  tell me.”  Jesus swallows.  “I’m worried she meant she’s gonna do something…to me.  Or she’ll  _make me_  do something I don’t wanna do…”

Mariana squints.  “No.  She’s not like that, Jesus.  She’s not Him.  She meant say you’re sorry, and she should have just told you that, but we all make mistakes.  It doesn’t mean she’s gonna hurt you.  It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you.”  A pause.  “Okay?”

“Okay,” he sighs, relieved.  “Seems like all I’m  _doing_  is apologizing to Frankie lately.  I’m such an ass.”

“Hey,” Mariana says firmly.  “We  _all_  make mistakes.  You don’t need to get down on yourself, okay?  You’ve got enough going on.”

“How’s your stomach?” Jesus asks, effectively steering the conversation away from himself.

“It actually doesn’t hurt at all,” she says.

“Yeah?  You wanna raid Frankie’s candy when she’s sleeping?” he smiles.

Mariana grins.  “You read my mind.”

They leave his room together to wait for Moms and Frankie.  She doesn’t leave his side.

It’s everything he never dared to hope for.


	24. Chapter 24

**_THEN_ **

**_Sunday, October 31, 2010_ **

**_Missing: 3 years, 1 month and 24 days_ **

_Josh was making sure everything was right.  Homework done?  Check.  Room cleaned?  Check.  Supper made?  Check.  Kitchen cleaned?  Okay, he’d start there._

_It wasn’t that he was hoping for a reward, just not to get his ass kicked, and not Something Else.  (When Something Else was a punishment, it was really bad.)_

_Now, Josh knew.  It was best to always be doing something.  To always be busy, so He couldn’t ever say it wasn’t worth it to have Josh around.  It’s not that Josh wanted to stay Here.  It’s that he needed to stay alive._

_There was still about five more months til Josh turned thirteen.  (Bonus: Josh had a March birthday, not May, so it would come around quicker.)  So that meant at least five more months til a Facebook.  Josh hadn’t tried to get His password again.  That finger still sometimes woke him up because Josh was dreaming about it being slammed.  But that didn’t mean Josh couldn’t keep his mind open for more ideas._

_“Hey.  Here.”  Something was tossed on the table.  Black fabric._

_Level 1.  (What the hell was this?)_

_Josh looked but didn’t touch.  Didn’t look too interested.  Didn’t move closer._

_“Can’t your old man do you a solid?” He smiled.  “Come on.  You have permission, okay?  Check it out,” He encouraged._

_Josh dried his hands and stepped over to examine the fabric.  Still kept his distance.  Still didn’t touch it._

_“I figure now you know I’m serious.”_

_Josh nodded._

_“And you know your place.”_

_Nodded again._

_“And you’re old enough to go Trick or Treating, right?”  His tone was open.  Nice._

_Josh swallowed.  “What do you think?”_

_“I think….” He ventures.  “Any kid of mine who goes out dressed like the Grim Reaper ought to know what’s coming to him if he steps one toe out of line.  Am I right?”_

_Josh nodded seriously._

_“So, you go alone.  No friends.  No attracting attention.  You say Trick or Treat.  You get candy.  You say thank you.  You leave.  Know that no matter what you do, I’ll find out eventually.  This is a test, son.  Can I trust you?  So don’t tell me.  Show me.  Be back in this house by 10 PM.  I’ll know in a second if you lie.  Now go change.”_

_Josh didn’t wait.  Just grabbed the costume, ran to the bathroom and put it on.  Then he swore under his breath.  Every single part of him was covered.  Face.  Hands.  Hair.  (Not that it mattered.  Josh was hiding in plain sight anyway.)_

_In minutes, he stepped out into the hall, and stood silently._

_“Very spooky,” He approved.  “Like it?”_

_The Grim Reaper nodded._

_“Well, get out there!  Get some candy!”_

_The Grim Reaper held out one finger, like, wait.  Ran to the bedroom and carefully peeled the pillowcase off the pillow.  Had to be so careful._

_Back out in the kitchen, The Grim Reaper took his position behind a chair, just in case He changed His mind.  He glanced up from His scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.  “Right.  Gotta have something to carry your loot home.  Come here…”_

_The Grim Reaper walked around the table.  Stopped by His chair.  He wrapped His arms around in a controlling hug.  Too tight.  Josh was still at Level 1 inside The Grim Reaper for when He ran His hands up and down, like He was checking that the costume fit right….and like He wasn’t._

_Josh clutched his pillowcase.  Willed his stomach not to growl.  (Grim Reapers don’t have stomachs.  It doesn’t matter you’ve only had water since lunch on Friday.)_

_“Don’t eat any candy ‘til I check it, understand?”_

_Nod._

_“Okay.  Have fun.”_

_Outside, finally, Josh’s heart thudded like crazy.  Like he might puke, but he forced himself to walk normal.  Until he turned three corners and was sure no one was watching from the windows or following him._

_Before he got to the first house, Josh reached down to the bottom of the pillowcase.  Got the notebook and the pen.  Took his gloves off.  Sat on a curb and wrote the same message five times.  Ripped the paper so he had five scraps that all read the same:_

My name is Jesus Foster.  I need help.

_Josh hadn’t said that name in years.  And he knew if he got caught at this, he could get in deep trouble.  Like six feet deep.  But it had been months since he did anything.  And he was never allowed out alone for this long.  Josh had to try._

_“Mom?” he mouthed, checking for her in his head._

_It was better than looking around at all the people dressed up.  Josh hated disguises.  Hated this holiday that tried to make being scared fun._

_It was Mama who came through, though:_

If you’re ever separated from me, and need to find an adult to trust, look for a woman with children.

_That made sense, and it would work.  He hated women.  And as much as He talked about going back to get Mariana in the beginning, He never actually took a girl.  Mothers with little girls.  Josh would start there._

_(He couldn’t very well just walk up and hand his scraps of paper to women in these houses.  Josh was still way too close to His house.  If He was spying on Josh and saw him giving people pieces of paper he’d get killed for sure.  Josh had to be sneakier than that.  Drop them in the bottom of the candy bowls while he’s taking his piece or something.)_

_Looking carefully, Josh started his route.  The first several houses were busts.  Moms with boys or Dads, or Dads with kids.  Finally, he found a house with a pink Barbie jeep in front.  Rang the bell._

_A woman answered, dressed like a cat, holding her young daughter (a kitten) by the hand._

_“Trick or treat,” he said and she offered him the candy bowl._

_Reaching in, Josh kept the scrap of paper hidden in his hand as he plunged it to the bottom of the bowl. Letting go of the paper, so it was hidden under all the candy, he picked some Sour Patch Kids._

_“Thank you,” he said,walking slowly away.  The door closed._

_Dragging it out as long as he could, Josh loitered down the driveway.  But the door wasn’t flung open and nobody screamed, “Wait!  Are you that missing boy from San Diego?”_

_Josh had four more papers.  Four more tries.  So he made sure to pick the best houses with people in them that He would never talk to.  Would never look at.  Would never notice._

_But it backfired.  Because they never noticed_ him _, either.  After the last paper was safely buried in some lady’s candy bowl, he put his gloves back on, not wanting Him to suspect anything._

_When he got home at 9:30, Josh felt like his insides were being sucked down a drain.  It was a good thing he was wearing a mask.  So he could figure out how he should act before He got mad._

_No music playing.  No loud TV.  Good._

_“Take your damn candy and get out of my face,” He snarled.  No more good mood._

_Josh didn’t have to hear it twice.  Throwing off his costume, Josh dumped out his candy on the floor._

_“Can I eat it?” he called._

_“Yes!  Hey!  Save me your Dots!”_

_Even though it pained him, Josh forced himself to set aside the four boxes - three tiny and one huge._

_Distantly, he heard the TV turn on, as he crammed candy in his mouth as fast as possible.  It was gone before he even knew it.  Josh’s stomach cramped and he heard:_

“Our top story tonight: a ten year old boy narrowly escaped a kidnapper tonight in downtown LA.  The child says he was grabbed and dragged by a man dressed head to toe in black “like a phantom.”

_Josh’s stomach lurched and he was sick in his garbage can.  Were there two Grim Reaper costumes?  If someone remembered Josh, would they think he did it?_

_A low, mocking laugh filled the space behind him.  “Oh my God, you are so stupid,” He said, picking up the Dots.  “Clean up before I come back and do it for you.”_

_Josh got chills.  Moved as fast as he could.  He made everything right again.  Nice again.  Threw away all the wrappers.  Folded the costume and left it on the table._

_When Josh came back to his room, He was waiting on the bed._

_“Well?” He said.  “Get over here.  I had a terrible night.”_

_That night, Josh played Cookie Land for hours, at Level 2 the whole time.  Couldn’t feel his hurting stomach.  Or the rest._

_He stayed awake until morning, just in case somebody found a paper and came to save him.  He was frozen.  Terrified that someone would come.  Terrified that they wouldn’t._

_The whole time, He snored like everything was fine.  Like He hadn’t just done That. As the hours passed, Josh felt sadder and sadder.  Tears slipped out and he locked them back in.  Even though it felt like his heart was broken, Josh couldn’t let it show, or it would be even worse._

_At school, he heard the rumors, but they weren’t what he thought they’d be.  Not about a fifth grader almost getting kidnapped, but a dumb prank where somebody left a paper in Megan Torres’s mom’s Trick or Treat bowl, claiming to be some missing kid._

_“They should have pretended to be somebody else.”_

_“I know, right?”_

_“I don’t even know who that is.”_

_“What kind of name is Jesus Foster, anyway?”_

Mine _, Josh thought, walking by them all._

It’s mine _._


	25. Chapter 25

**_THEN_ **

**_Wednesday, November 3, 2010_ **

**_Missing: 3 years, 1 month and 27 days_ **

_Mariana sat in the office feeling like the worst person in the world.  Her stomach ached.  It was in knots.  Three days.  Being grounded was the worst.  Even though therapy wasn’t the same as being sent to the principal, sometimes it felt the same.  Made her feel different.  Bad._

_Dr. Ramirez studied Mariana.  Their time was ticking by.  Mariana crossed her arms.  Dr. Ramirez would think she was feeling defensive, but Mariana didn’t care.  Much._

_“How have you been this week?” she asked, her pen poised to write._

_“Grounded,” Mariana pouted._

_“Do you want to talk about what led up to that?”_

_“Not really….”  But the silence built and built, and Mariana couldn’t take the quiet.  “I was supposed to be home by 8:00 on Sunday, and I wasn’t.  But it was Halloween.  So, me and Lexi were Trick or Treating, and we lost track of time.  Big deal!”_

_“Was it a big deal?” Dr. Ramirez pressed._

_“Mom went out looking for us_ in her squad car _.  It was so embarrassing.  It was only, like, 9:30.  We were barely late!”_

_“So you don’t think your parents were right to worry?”_

_“What happened to Jesus wouldn’t happen to me…even if I wanted it to…” Mariana muttered._

_“What do you mean by that?” Dr. Ramirez asked._

_“It means,_ I’m _the screw up._ I _should be gone, not him.”_

_Dr. Ramirez wrote something down.  Waited._

_“If I went missing nobody would care.  But everybody loves Jesus.  It should be me instead.”_

_“It sounds like being grounded is bringing up feelings from when Jesus was taken.”_

_Mariana shrugged.  “I guess.”_

_“Do you view your parents’ love as conditional?”_

_Mariana tipped her head and squinted.  Then she nodded.  “Basically.  I mean, they don’t_ have _to keep me.”_

_“That’s right.  They chose to.”_

_“But they regret it,” Mariana admitted, twirling her hair around her finger.  “Look at all the pain we’ve caused them.”_

_“Does Brandon do things that cause them pain?”_

_“Sure.”_

_“And do your parents still love him?”_

_“Yeah, but that’s different.  He’s Mom’s real son.  And Mama loves her so she has to love him, too.  Package deal.  They didn’t have to love us.”_

_“Wouldn’t that make it better?  To know their love isn’t an obligation?”_

_“It would, except even our birth mom didn’t love us more than she loved getting high.  You could argue that she had an obligation to love us, and she didn’t. If the person who’s supposed to love you doesn’t?  It’s like you’re not worth very much.  And if people choose to love you, you’re constantly worried about letting them down, because even the person who was supposed to be willing to lie down in traffic for you left you alone and forgot to feed you.”_

_“You’re saying, if your moms can choose to love you, they might also choose the opposite?  To stop loving you?”_

_“Yeah…I mean, right?” Mariana asked.  “This is kinda heavy.  Can we talk about something else?”_

_“Do you blame Jesus for going missing?” Dr. Ramirez asked, shifting topic.  No judgment._

_“No!  Of course not!”_

_“I ask because I’m hearing you talk about his abduction in terms of punishment.  The only person to blame for what’s happened to your brother is the person who took him.  Does that make sense?”_

_“It kind of just feels like you’re saying it to make me feel better…” Mariana admitted.  She bit her lip._

_“Let me ask you something else.  Do you love your sister, Frankie?”_

_Mariana instantly felt lighter.  Her whole face lit up.  The one good thing about being grounded was that she wasn’t grounded from Frankie.  “More than anything.”_

_“If, hypothetically, an adult were to hurt your sister…  What would you feel?”_

_“Angry,” Mariana said, without hesitation._

_“Who would you be angry at?”_

_“Myself,” Mariana admitted, surprising herself.  “For not protecting her.”_

_“Do you feel to blame for not protecting your brother?”_

_Mariana’s breathing was ragged.  When had she started crying?  “No…  I’m mad at him for not being here to protect_ me _…”_

_“You feel vulnerable without him.”Mariana nodded.“I’m a twin but I’m not.  And if I’m not, I don’t know who I am.”_

_“Well, let’s think about that together.”  Dr. Ramirez reached behind her for paper and markers._

_“What’s this?”  Mariana asked, drying her tears._

_“I want you to draw yourself for me.”_

_Getting own on the floor, Mariana spread out.  She took the black marker and made pretty accurate self portrait. All around it, she drew the other members of her family.  She drew Jesus in pencil - faded - beside her.  Even though he’d be twelve now, Mariana hadn’t seen him in three years, so he still looked nine.  With the marker again, she drew Frankie and Callie, a little further away.  Then Jude.  Then Brandon.  Then Moms.  A solid arrow connected Mariana to Jesus.  Another solid arrow connected Mom to Brandon.  Mama to Frankie.  Callie to Jude.  A dotted line connected Mariana to Frankie and then to Mama.  Another from her to Brandon and then to Mom.  A dotted line to Callie and one to Jude._

_“Tell me about this picture,” Dr. Ramirez prompted._

_“That’s us,” Mariana shrugged._

_“Tell me about_ you _,” the doctor clarified.  “I asked you to draw yourself.  You drew you, but you also drew all these other people.”_

_“That’s because it’s never been just me.  I’ve always been_ us _and_ we _.  I don’t know who I am alone.  And maybe that’s bad, but I’ve never existed alone, so I never had to learn how.  I’m learning now, and it sucks.  It feels wrong.  Because I’m not just me.  I’m a twin.  I’m a twin but I’m not a twin.  So who am I?  Having a twin is like having another half, so if I don’t have him, it feels like all I am is half.”_

_“It looks like biological connection is important to you.”_

_“People say it doesn’t matter.  But the people who say that usually already have it,” Mariana observed.  Mama liked to say that DNA didn’t make a family, love did.  But even she had biological parents and Frankie to feel connected to.  Mama didn’t get along with her half brother because he wasn’t full.  Mariana heard her say it._

_If Mama felt that way, deep down…if she needed a biological baby after adopting four kids from foster care, and Brandon, it kind of invalidated her argument._

_“What do_ you _say?”_

_“I say it_ does _matter,” Mariana mumbled._

_“Do you think that’s why you feel your sense of self is so closely tied to Jesus?”_

_“Kinda.  Like. it’s partly biological, I think.  But mostly, it’s a twin thing.  You wouldn’t understand unless you are one.”_

_“I have some homework for you.”_

_Mariana made a face.  “Seriously?  I’m grounded and have enough seventh grade busywork to drive me nuts, and you wanna give me more?_

_”“I want you to notice your choices. Don’t change them, just notice them.  What do you like?  What do you dislike?  What do you have a strong opinion on and vice versa?”_

_“And?” Mariana asked, sensing Dr. Ramirez wasn’t done.  There was always actual work involved in her assignments._

_“I want you to write a letter to Jesus.  Using the insight you gained about yourself as a guide.  Update him about you. This is about you, Mariana.  Though, there is a time and place for expressing your feelings about Jesus, I want you to practice talking about you.  Being a twin is important to you.  I can see that.  So tell him who you are.  And the next time we meet, bring your letter, and we’ll discuss it together.”_

_Mariana breathed.  She felt okay.  Better than okay.  She didn’t have to let go of Jesus to find out who she was._

_For the rest of the day, Mariana was like a detective, paying extra attention to what she did.  What she felt.  What she chose.That night, she wrote her letter:_

Dear Jesus,

It’s me, Mari.  I know I haven’t talked to you in a while, so I thought it was time for an update:

First, I’m so over Disney princesses.  Bye, Belle.  I’m more into antique looking stuff and fashion.  I have a strong GPA, and did the best in social studies drawing my world map.  I’m getting really good at coding and computer stuff.

I like pink and I’m still a drama queen.  I like theater and I was in the school play at Anchor Beach.  In Winnie the Pooh (last year), I played Piglet, and in Give My Regards to Broadway (on Friday OMG!), I play Trixie.  I like acting because it lets me be someone else who is not lonely.  

My favorite TV show is Grey’s Anatomy.  My favorite movie is still Lizzie McGuire because I remember loving it with you.  I recently saw this old movie, though, Sister Act, and LOVED it.  I don’t like being grounded because Moms are hyper.  I don’t like meat.  I think I want to be pescatarian because I care about animal rights, but can’t give up all protein.

The most important thing you need to know about me is that no matter what we will always be Jesus-and-Mariana - we will always be twins.  Every time I think about you maybe being gone I can’t.  I’m here, so you’re here.

Love, Mariana

_By the time Mariana was done with her letter, Callie was sleeping.  It sounded like the house was, too.  She crept across the hall and eased open Jesus’s bedroom door.  She hated that it didn’t smell like him anymore.  (She always used to tease him that he smelled like a dirty dog, but she would give anything to smell that smell if it meant he was there with her.  If she could touch him.  Hug him.  See him.)_

_She stood in the middle of his empty room, with the three-year-old mess no one touched.  Anyone who picked up Ord the dragon knew to put him back exactly where Jesus left him.  On the bed, shoved between the crack by the wall._

_Turning on her flashlight on her phone, Mariana whispered the words of her letter aloud.  When she was done, she waited for a sign that he had heard her, but nothing happened.  Softly, she pushed the door open and crept down the hall.  The TV was on in Moms’ room._

_A little boy from LA had almost been abducted on Halloween night, but there were no leads because the child couldn’t identify him._

_Goosebumps rose on Mariana’s arms.  She hurried to her room and closed the door._


	26. Chapter 26

**NOW**

**Monday, November 3, 2014**

**Home: 3 years and 20 days**

Over the weekend, not much changed.  Jesus found himself not eating much.  Not sleeping much.  And even though Mariana had been so there for him, and he so appreciated it, Jesus is definitely shutting her out.  It’s not because she hasn’t been there, it’s that she has.  He hates trusting sometimes, because it still feels like this feeling of safety could just be ripped away at any moment.

And Jesus can’t lose it again.

At least, if he takes it away himself, Jesus knows it’s coming.

It’s the first Monday of a new month and that means family therapy.  They drive in three separate cars - Brandon and Jude, Mom, Mariana and Callie, and Mama, Frankie and Jesus.  This would usually be ideal-situation, but Frankie’s still super hurt about Halloween night and hasn’t forgiven him and Mariana for eating her candy when she was sleeping.  Callie couldn’t keep her mouth shut and made a huge deal out of them eating candy that wasn’t theirs, and Frankie overheard.

It hadn’t mattered that his baby sis was the size of a peanut and could never eat all 16 tons of candy she came home with.  According to Callie, Frankie had a right to all 16 tons of it.  Jesus and Mariana should have eaten the family candy.

(It’s not like they ate it all, but still.  Jesus hadn’t known it would bug her this much.  And he felt gross having done it.  It felt like something He would do.)

Brandon’s piano music is playing, and Frankie’s whining that it’s boring.  (Whining makes his ears literally hurt and his skin crawl.  He can hear her through the headphones.) Jesus pulls the blanket tighter around him.

“Seriously, Mama, we need other music!” she complains for the 600th time.

“Honey, you chose to ride in this car.  This is the music in this car,” Mama reasons.  

“But I didn’t know that!” Frankie pouts, breaking into tears.  “I wanna ride with Mom!  Jesus is not my friend anymore!”

And then Frankie loses it.  She’s fighting against the carseat straps.  Her tiny sharp fingernails graze his arm as she flails.

Jesus can’t do anything, even though he wants to.  (Mostly, he wants to unbuckle her, but a voice - oh, it’s Mama - is coaching him.  It’s a miracle Jesus can hear it.)

“We are almost there.  Everybody needs to stay in their seatbelts for safety.  When we park, you can take them off.  Let’s do some breathing together.  I need to take some deep breaths,” Mama says.

“Nooooo,” Frankie howls.

But Jesus is already breathing.  Counting.  Trying to hear the music over the rushing in his ears.

The door on his side is open.  The car is parked, but Jesus can’t move.  Mom is there.  Reaches in.  Unbuckles him and takes his hand.  She encircles his waist with her arms and they’re walking.

The smell hits him first.  The office.  His knees go weak and he falls into a chair.

Jesus hears Dr. Hitchens distantly.  “Jesus.  When you’re ready, I need you to take your headphones off.”

He doesn’t wait, just jerks them off.  The silence is loud in his ears: a relief.

It’s just them for a bit as Dr. Hitchens helps him feel grounded and present again.  He keeps the headphones around his neck until they start to feel unsafe there.  Jesus rips them off.  Tosses them on the floor.  He keeps the blanket.

After a while, the rest of the family comes in.  Frankie’s not crying.  She sits curled up on Mama’s lap.  She sits on one side, Mom on the other.  All the sibs in a circle with them and the doc.

Dr. Hitchens opens the session the same way she always does, holding a yellow Nerf ball in her hands.  She leads them all through grounding and breathing.  It seems to really help Frankie.  Jesus notices she is calmer in her body.  Quieter.  Dr. Hitchens talks about the importance of clear communication and supportive listening.  About being aware of their bodies and body language.  Being aware when they held the ball, and being calm and in control when they tossed it to someone else.  Then she tosses the ball to Jesus.  It’s always to him first, because it helps him stay aware that his voice matters and that they want to hear him.

“What’s the most important thing you need your family to know right now?” Dr. Hitchens cues.

Jesus looks at Mariana.  “Your bracelets are triggering me,” he says quietly.  “I need you to take them off.”

Toss.  

Mariana catches it in one hand.  Her bangle bracelets clink together.  They sound like chains.

“Oh, so you’re talking to me now?” Mariana asks, holding the ball like she’s strangling it.

“Let’s pause right there.” Dr. Hitchens advises.  (She’s the only one who doesn’t need the ball to talk.)  “Mariana, what did you hear Jesus say just now?”

“It feels like you’re judging me,” she says, looking him in the eye.  “For what I’m wearing.  Nobody ever says a word about that stuff to you, ‘cause we know it would affect you.”

“Jesus, do you have a response?”

“I like them, I just don’t like the sound they make.  The last thing I wanna do is hurt your feelings.”

“No,” Mariana interjects, not waiting to be cued.  “You just wanna use me when it’s convenient and shut me out the rest of the time!”

“Pause,” Dr. Hitchens calls.

She guides Mariana through taking slow, deep breaths and then asks: “What’s under your anger at Jesus?”

“Hurt,” she admits, the world in her eyes as she looks at him.  “I love you, Jesus, and I know I don’t get everything you’re going through, but it hurts when you shut me out.”

“Jesus, can you respond?”

“Not right now, but I hear you.  And I’m sorry.”

Mariana takes off her bracelets and tosses the ball.

Brandon catches it.  He’s sitting back in the chair.  Going for relaxed, but coming off as distant and aloof.  “I wanna know why you didn’t run?” he asks Jesus evenly.  He tosses the ball back.

Jesus catches it.  Blinks.  “What?”  He gets rid of the ball, tossing it back to B as fast as possible.

“Seriously.  Why didn’t you leave earlier?  You were out on your own plenty of times.  That…” (Brandon casts a glance at Frankie and amends his adjective.) “…jerk wasn’t with you every minute.”

Toss.

“Not comfortable,” Jesus mutters and tosses the ball back at Brandon with a little more force.

“Do you have anything important you need your family to know, Brandon?” Dr. Hitchens asks.

“What?   _That_  wasn’t important?  I think it was a valid question, and he dodged it.”

“Stating you are not comfortable answering a personal question is the opposite of evasive,” Dr. Hitchens explains patiently.

“Right, because the King can do no wrong.  So sorry, Your Majesty,” Brandon mock-bows at the waist with a little flourish.  He tosses the ball to Frankie, calling it in the air, because Frankie’s hand-eye coordination is like not there at all.  “That’s for you, Cranky Frankie.”

She sticks her tongue out at Brandon, and climbs off Mama’s lap to retrieve the ball, where it rolled under the chairs.  Sitting by the wall, behind them, Frankie says darkly.  “I’m mad at Jesus and Mariana and I’m mad at Brandon.”

“It sounds like you have a lot of mad inside right now,” Mama observes.  (Frankie gets “shy” if Dr. Hitchens talks to her, so Mom or Mama usually ask her questions.)

“I do,” Frankie pouts.  “Brandon just called me a mean name like kids in my school and Jesus and Mariana eated my candy without permission and Jesus yelled at me,” she recites.  Seems like she’s been holding a lot in.

“I see,” Mama says.  “What do you need from them?”

“Nothing, I’m too mad,” Frankie buries her face in Night-Night.

Mama looks to Dr. Hitchens.  But Jesus clears his throat and raises his hand.  (Frankie loves the idea of raising her hand, and loves it even more if she’s in charge of calling on people with their hand raised.)  The ball appears, rolling out between Jesus’s feet from behind.  He scoops it up.

“I just wanna say I’m very sorry to Frankie.  I know I yelled at you and scared you and I shouldn’t have done that.  Next time, I’ll try very hard to handle stuff differently.”

“And are you and Mariana sorry for eating my candy?” Frankie accuses.  “Everybody asks your permission, and we don’t eat your food.  Why did you eat mine?”

Jesus feels guilt rising in him.  He moves from his chair and lies down on the floor across from Frankie. Both with their blankets.  (He always feels less weird with her.  She’s different, too, so she gets it.)  He waits ‘til she peeks at him.

“I am very sorry I ate your candy, okay?  That was so wrong.  I would feel very bad if somebody ate food that was mine.  We weren’t thinking of your feelings, and we’re sorry.”

“Will you get me more?  As many as you had, so it can be the same again?” Frankie asks.

“If that’s what you need to know we’re sorry, then yeah.  That’s what we’ll do.”  (He can feel Moms staring at him, sending their disapproval of more candy at him without words, but this isn’t about them.  It’s about righting a wrong.)

“I’m sorry, too, Frankie,” Mariana offers.

“Sorry,” Brandon says, like he’s super bored.

“Hey,” Frankie reprimands.  “You don’t have the ball!”

He asks who Frankie wants to give the ball to next, and she says Callie.  When it’s been thrown, he whispers to Frankie:

“Still buddies?”

She sighs dramatically and covers herself with her blanket.  “I guess,” she whispers.  “But I still don’t want to ride in the car with you.”

“Deal,” he whispers.  “Come on.  We should get back in the circle,” he says, offering her a hand.

Slowly, she reaches out, and takes it. 


	27. Chapter 27

By the time Jesus is back in his chair, and Frankie’s settled on the floor with some toys, playing quietly, Callie’s deep into all the stuff she needs them to know.  

She’s staring down Moms.

“I need you both to know that you make me feel guilty for my interests,” she says.  It’s like Callie was born for direct communication.  Like she lives for it.

“What interests are you referring to specifically?” Dr. Hitchens asks.

“Photography,” Callie says.  “You act like it’s stupid, and it makes me feel like you think I don’t have any talent.”

Mom raises a hand, and Callie tosses the ball.  “I’m sorry, love.  I do think you are very talented.  I need to tell you more.”

Toss.  Callie has it again.  She turns to Jesus.  “And it doesn’t make me feel great when every time I wanna take a picture of the family, you leave.”

Toss.  Jesus catches it.  Swallows.  “It makes me nervous.”

“Come on,” Brandon balks from across the room.  “Bracelets make you nervous.  Pictures make you nervous.  Jude makes you nervous.  What’s next?  Pandas?  The Queen of England?”

“Jesus has the ball, not you,” Frankie bosses.  “No ball-y, no talk-y.”

“Well, neither do you,” Brandon insists.

“Okay.  Let’s focus, please.  Jesus, let’s give Callie a chance to respond,” Dr. Hitchens says.

But instead, she tosses the ball to Jude, who uses his time to download every bit of what’s going on in school, with his boyfriend, and how Jesus being triggered by their video game actually ended up helping.

“How is that?” Mama asks.

“Because there’s less people at his house,” Jude shrugs.  “So, more privacy.”

“Jude and Connor sitting in a tree,” Frankie sang.

“There better not be any K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Mom warns.

(Jesus feels his hair being yanked.  A mouth on his mouth.  A tongue inside.  He almost gags.)

Vaguely, Jesus is aware of Mariana’s eyes locked on his, and Callie, frozen in her chair.  Frankie keeps playing like nothing is wrong.  Jesus doesn’t let himself take in anything from Jude or Brandon.  He’s afraid it will be eyerolls and crossed arms.  He hears Dr. Hitchens talking, but he doesn’t at the same time.

Mama clears her throat.  Mom offers her arms, and Jesus puts them around himself.  Jude throws Mama the ball.  Before she starts talking, she offers him water.

(By now he’s coughing hard.  He really might be about to hurl.  But Mama’s talking.  What’s she saying?)

“It’s important to me to tell you all the good things I’ve noticed this month.  Brandon and Callie were responsible at the Halloween party.  Mariana’s been helping Jesus.  Jesus, you’ve been coping so well.  Frankie’s been doing better with boundaries.  And Jude, your help in the kitchen has really been appreciated.  And I appreciate how hard Mom’s been working to make sure we all have what we need.”

Jesus knows what she’s doing.  Mama is great at biding time.  Giving him a chance to focus on positive things so he can stop the avalanche of flashbacks. When he nods at her, Mama seamlessly moves to the more personal.  “Sometimes, I feel overwhelmed,” she says, looking right at him.  “When I do, I share my feelings with Mom.  I’m also working on taking deep breaths to calm down.”

Taking the hint, Jesus tries to breathe.  But it’s hard when Mom gets the ball and starts sharing concerns.  “I’ve been feeling very stressed and I need you kids to get along and work together.  He hears the word “boys” and stops listening altogether.  He’s back again when he hears she’s moved onto talking about the girls:

“I need you girls to step up.  I need to be able to count on you to help.  So no more pretending to be sick, yes?” she asks, staring at Mariana.

Mariana thrusts her hand in the air angrily and Mom tosses the ball, holding onto Jesus again as soon as she can.

“I know I already had my turn but I need to know something else.”

Dr. Hitchens nods.

“Look at what you’re doing right now,” Mariana instructs Mom.

Mom raises and eyebrow in warning, but surveys herself and looks back at Mari.

“I have always been sick–”

“Mariana, you have not…” Brandon interjects.

“ _I have always been sick_.”  She repeats, stressing each word.  “I need to know why Jesus being sick is legit and worthy of comfort but my being sick is faking?”

“Mariana, your brother has bronchitis,” Mom insists impatiently.

“Stef?  Excuse me.  Mariana asked a question,” Dr. Hitchens interrupted.

“Why do we assume you’re faking, Mariana?  Because your stomach aches have very particular timing.  When Jesus needs us, you have a stomachache.”

“So?  It’s what happens with six kids.  Illness overlaps.” Mariana retorts.

“Not every time, love…” Stef persists.

Mariana’s eyes are full of tears.  Jesus closes his so he won’t have to see.  This is why he hates coming here with all of them.  It’s too much.  Too many people with too little information.  He has to check back in when Dr. Hitchens is giving them their assignment for the next month.

“I want all of you to work on honoring each other’s feelings.  This takes work.  You need to think about the words you use when you talk to each other.  Are they kind?  Are they true?  Are they necessary?  Do they help?”

“Do we get a prize?” Frankie asks.  “For being good?”

Jesus’s stomach lurches.

“We’re going out for pizza,” Mama reminds.  “As a family.  That’s the prize.”

Frankie wrinkles her nose.  “That’s not the kinda prize I mean…”

Oh, Jesus could just disappear right about now.  Please stop talking,  Please stop talking.  Please stop talking.

Before he knows it, they are walking out to the car again.  Mom’s still got her arms around his waist.  Jesus feels a random, super intense urge to pull away.  To run.  It’s dark and dinner’s late because of family therapy, and bribing everyone with food is the only way Brandon will come.  Grams keeps giving Mama money so they can do this, because she says bonding is important.

Jesus is feeling a little too distant.  He maybe forgot his headphones in the office.  “Mom,” he says, desperate.  “We’re eating late?”

“Check your pocket, love.  You brought granola bars with you.”

But he can’t.

The car is in sight and he’s slowed down until they’re standing in front of it.  He wonders where Mariana and Callie are riding. He wonders why everything has to be so damn hard for him.

“We’re eating late?” he asks it again because it’s like his brain is stuck. Jesus doesn’t do regular hunger.  He does: I Just Ate and I’m Sure I’m Starving.

“We’re eating late, yes.  But we  _are_  eating.  We’re going to have pizza like we do every month, after family therapy.  So when you’re ready, we can get in the car, and I’ll drive us there.”

“I’m not ready…” he manages, “but waiting is making it worse…”

“Okay.  Do you need me to help you?” Mom wonders.

Nod.

She opens the back door, and coaxes him inside.  She unwraps the granola bar and hands it to him, with an open bottle of water.  “This is yours.  So you can have it, okay?”

Nod.

Mama isn’t here to sit with him.

“I need you to put your seatbelt on when you’re ready, and then I’m going to drive us to the restaurant.”

Jesus knows he will never be ready, so he forces himself to get ready.  Clicks the seatbelt into place.

Mom’s talking as they drive but he can’t make out what she’s saying.  Jesus holds the granola bar.  Because the only thing worse than eating late is not having access to backup food just in case.

He blinks.  It seems like she’s saying the same words over and over.  Jesus moves his headphones so he can hear:

“You are stronger than you seem, braver than you believe, and smarter than you think you are.  You are stronger than you seem, braver than you believe, and smarter than you think you are…”

Jesus joins in:  “I am stronger than I seem, braver than I believe, and smarter than I think I am.”

They pull into the restaurant parking lot.

He made it.  

It’s not where he wants to be.  But at least there’s food.


	28. Chapter 28

**_THEN_ **

**_Saturday, October 15, 2011_ **

**_Home: 1 day_ **

_Josh felt the edge of a blanket and jerked awake.  A living room. Bare floor.  Body wedged under something.  A piano bench.  Wait.  He didn’t have a piano.  Blinking, Josh shook his head.    Only one person Josh knew played piano._

_“Hey,” Brandon said.  “Nice to see that thing’s good for something.”_

_Jesus.  He was Jesus now.  Never had to be Josh again.  It wasn’t a dream.  He was really out.  Really free._

_Stiffly, Jesus stood and moved around Brandon.  He was big now.  Jesus tried to do the math.  Fifteen?  Sixteen?  Jesus felt puny and weak next to him.  But he said: “Hey,” back because he didn’t know what the rest meant._

_He stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Staring.  It was so quiet, Jesus wasn’t expecting so many people to be here.  But there was Mom, Mariana, Mama, Brandon.  Plus one, two, three other kids and—_

_“Well, there’s my baby!  As I live and breathe!”  Jesus didn’t have time to react.  He was crushed against a woman’s chest.  Grandma.  It had to be.  She smelled the same, even if she looked older._

_Jesus went along for the hug, shifting into Level 1 even though this wasn’t the same.  Next, she kissed him all over the face.  Jesus stood still._

_“Mom, come on.  Let’s let him breathe.”  Stef.  Mom.  Good.  Jesus exhaled._

_“How did you sleep?” she asked quietly, shepherding him to a spot beside Mariana._

_“Yeah,” he said, because Jesus had no idea how to answer.  He had slept though, so “yeah” seemed safe._

_“Here, love, have some breakfast.”  Lena handed him a plate.  Mama._

_Jesus took it.  “Thank you,” he said.  He wrapped one arm around his plate.  Then, he picked up the French toast like regular toast and ate it in three bites.  Then he shoveled away the scrambled eggs in no time flat.  Finally, two strips of bacon in two bites.  Orange juice in one gulp._

_“Wow, you eat fast…” a voice said._

_Jesus glanced up and froze._

_“Jude.  Be nice,” an older girl reprimanded._

_“I am!  I’m just saying.  He does eat really fast…”_

_Heat flooded Jesus’s cheeks._

_“Of course he does!  It’s a compliment to the chef!  He knows good cooking when he tastes it.  Isn’t that right, Jesus?” Mom asked._

_“It was so good…” he managed, just barely holding himself back from grabbing regular toast._

_“You always did love to eat,” Mama said, smiling and looking tearful._

_“Really?” he asked._

_She took Jesus’s plate and his stomach plummeted.  When she started reloading it, Jesus wondered if he could be so lucky.  She set it in front of him._

_Jesus couldn’t wait and dug in again, inhaling the second plate as fast as the first._

_“Jesus,” Mom said as he was contemplating licking the plate.  “Let’s stop for a second and make introductions.  “This is your sister, Callie.”  (She pointed out Reprimanding Girl.)  “Your brother, Jude.  (No way in hell. This was just cruel.)  “And this…” Mom pointed to a syrupy baby in a high chair.  “…is your baby sister, Francesca.  We call her Frankie.”_

_“We got a baby?” he asked, incredulous.  Mama was raising her eyebrows at Jesus’s empty plate and pointing to the plates of food.  Jesus nodded.  Round number three._

_“Mama had her,” Mariana interjected from beside him._

_“Oh…” he said, not looking at her.  Jesus was distracted, counting the seconds before his plate was in front of him.  “How old is she?” he managed, his mouth full._

_“Eighteen months. But gestationally, fifteen months,” Mariana said._

_“What’s that mean?” he asked, in the midst of another bite._

_“She was born early–” Mariana was explaining when Jude butted in._

_“Isn’t anyone gonna tell him not to talk with his mouth full?  If it’s rude when I do it, it’s rude when he does it!”_

_Jesus forced himself not to talk anymore.  Forced himself to swallow.  He glanced down at his plate.  Empty again.  He couldn’t hear anything.  Just felt his stomach cramping.  Bolting from the table, Jesus ran for the bathroom, remembering where it was from yesterday.  He fell on his knees, sick from stress of doing the wrong thing._

_He didn’t go back in the kitchen.  Instead, he sat in one of the chairs in the living room.  Then, he thought better of it, and sat on the floor._

_From his spot, Jesus could hear Stef and Lena talking about press.  Jesus had seen them outside when he came back yesterday.  They were why the curtains were closed.  They didn’t even have to tell him not to go by the windows.  Jesus was a pro at that already._

_First, Grandma came in and wanted to take a selfie with him.  Jesus was confused, but smiled for her phone even though he felt blank and empty inside._

_She touched buttons._

_“My grandson.  Home again.  I tell you, it’s a miracle.”_

_It took Jesus a minute to figure out that she was captioning the picture.  She showed it to him, one arm around his neck.  “What do you think, kiddo?” she asked._

_The answer was automatic: “I don’t think.”_

_She laughed like he made a joke.  But it was serious.  He had a smashed finger with a weird nail to prove how serious._

_“Mom…  Seriously!” Stef asked, holding up her phone._

_Jesus stood.  Smiled.  He could do more pictures.  Whatever._

_“What?  Stefanie, I’m glad my grandson’s home.  Is that a crime?”_

_“Please tell me you didn’t share that online…” Stef said like she was begging._

_“I just Twittered it.  To my friends.  They’ll want to know he’s home!  To see his face!”_

_Jesus stood, listening.  The smile was gone but he could get it back._

_“They know he’s back!  If they watch the news, they know he’s back!  They are not entitled to see his face!  And, Mom, how many times do I have to say it?  Random strangers on the internet are not your friends.”_

_“Well, don’t you know how to ruin a good time?” Grandma pouted._

_“Take it down.  Jesus deserves privacy,” Stef was mad.  It made Jesus nervous._

_“It’s really fine.  I don’t need privacy,” Jesus offered, trying to smooth things over.  Make them good._

_That stopped Grandma.  He wasn’t sure why.  But she looked at him like he said the saddest thing ever and not the truest.  She hit more buttons on her phone and deleted the picture.  Then she went out back in her motorhome and asked who wanted to come hang out there.  Brandon, Callie and Jude did.  Jesus didn’t._

_When Mom left to talk to the press outside, Jesus paced in front of the closed door.  His heart beat fast.  He felt scared again.  (He watched the news all the time.  What if He saw where Jesus was?  What if He came back to get him or Mariana or the baby?  It wouldn’t be about Him, it would be about who it would upset Jesus the most if He got them.)_

_“Hey, bud.  What’s up?” Lena asked._

_“Is Mariana okay?  And the baby?”_

_“Yes, they’re fine.  My mom is with them.”  (Jesus met her again.  Much more calm than Stef’s mom.  She wanted to take pictures but didn’t.)_

_“Why is she doing that?” he nodded at the door._

_“She’s giving a statement, so the reporters know to respect our privacy.”_

_“That shouldn’t take this long to say…” he worried._

_“Well,” Lena offered her hand.  Jesus didn’t take it, but walked next to her.  She sat on the couch and he stood.  “She’s also saying thank you to everyone who helped look for you, and helped rescue you.  And she’s saying we’re so glad you’re back.”_

_“Are you?”_

_“Yes, honey, we are.”_

_“You were still looking?” he asked, surprised._

_Lena looked tired.  But she tried to smile.  It cracked her face in the middle.  “Of course.”_

_“Huh.  I thought you were mad I ran away,” Jesus offered, confused._

_“We’re not mad, and you didn’t run away,” Lena said._

_“Are you mad I left school without a pass?” he asked, shifting from foot to foot._

_Lena cocked her head._

_“Then.  That Day.  When I felt sick…”_

_“No, sweetheart.  You were a little boy.  It’s not your fault.”_

_Jesus nodded, but he still felt afraid._

_It was only a little better when Mom got back inside with them.  Jesus liked it when she wore her uniform.  It felt like extra protection._

_“Can I go see Mariana?” he asked._

_“Of course, honey,” Mom said.  “You don’t have to ask permission.”_

_“But there’s a gate,” he pointed out._

_Mom smiled.  “That’s to protect Frankie, so she doesn’t get on the stairs and fall.  I’ll show you how to open it.”  She showed him how to hold the button down on top and lift it.  “Just make sure you close it after yourself, and the one on the top of the stairs, too.”_

_“I will,” he said, solemnly._

_Jesus went upstairs carefully.  Double-checking the gate at the bottom and on top.  He did not want the baby to be hurt._

_Walking slowly down the hall, Jesus stopped at his own closed door.  Touched it.  Was it still his?  It still said Jesus on it.  What was inside?  It made him feel better that with all the other changes, he still had a room.  He’d been thinking maybe he wouldn’t anymore.  Brandon’s room said Brandon and Jude on the door._

_He found Mariana in her room.  There was another bed in it.  Two names on the door now: Callie and Mariana.  Frankie crawled over to him.  She played with his bare toes.  Jesus squatted next to her._

_“Hi, Baby.  I closed the gate so you won’t fall,” he told her softly._

_She whimpered nervously, looking for Mariana.  But Mariana smiled and came over, picking up Frankie and cuddling her.  They sat next to Jesus on the floor.  “Frankie, this is your buddy, Jesus.  Remember?”_

_Jesus blinked.  How did the baby know him?_

_“No…” Frankie said._

_“It’s okay.  I don’t have to  be anything,” Jesus insisted.  Anything so Frankie didn’t cry._

_“She just has to get used to you,” Mariana reassured.  Reaching out, Mariana touched Jesus on the knee.  It felt like burning and he jerked away._

_“Sorry,” he said._

_“I wasn’t gonna hurt you.”  Mariana said.  She looked hurt now._

_“Who sleeps there?” he asked, pointing to the bed that wasn’t Mariana’s.  It said Callie on the door, but he liked to be sure._

_“Callie.”_

_“Is she nice?” he asked._

_“Yeah.  She looked out for me…you know, for you…” she said awkwardly._

_“When did they come?” Jesus asked, studying Frankie as she chewed the edge of a pink blanket._

_“It’ll be three years ago next month,” Mariana admitted, looking guilty._

_“And her?” Jesus nodded at Frankie._

_“She was born last April, but she came home in July.”_

_Jesus nodded.  Then he got up and looked for Moms._

_The rest of the day, he got to eat lunch and dinner.  Jude didn’t talk about how he ate anymore.  Jesus offered to clean the kitchen._

_“It’s okay.  Moms do it on the weekend,” Brandon said.  “Mariana and I clean Mondays and Wednesdays.  Callie and Jude take Tuesdays and Thursdays.”_

_(This whole time, Brandon had been acting like Jesus never left.  Like everything was normal.  Jesus kind of appreciated it but it kind of freaked him out.  It made him question if the last four years really happened the way Jesus thought they did or if he made it all up.  Jesus didn’t like that feeling.)_

_“When Frankie gets a little older and can help, maybe we’ll put you two in the rotation,” Lena said._

_“I can help now,” Jesus offered, rushing to clear the table.  Those two huge helpings of spaghetti were not happy that he ran.  But Jesus needed to show them it was a good thing he was back.  So they didn’t send him back There._

_That night, Jesus played with Frankie.  She was smiling at him._

_“Hello?” Brandon called, nudging Jesus with a foot._

_Pivoting, Jesus moved so he was blocking Frankie.  When her body jerked in surprise, he was there to steady her._

_“Dude.  Moms have been talking to you for, like, five minutes.  Answer them,” Brandon insisted._

_Dazed, Jesus looked around.  He hadn’t heard anything._

_“Bud, I need you to start getting ready for bed,” Lena said._

_“I’m ready,” Jesus said calmly._

_“Sweetheart, you’re in your clothes from Friday morning.”_

_“I didn’t get them dirty,” Jesus pointed out, scared.  “I swear.”_

_“I’d like you to grab a shower,” Lena tried again._

_“See this, Frankie?  This is a ball.  Can you say ball?” he asked._

_“Bah,” Frankie grinned._

_Jesus stared, shocked.  “Guys, she said ball…” he said, a little worried._

_“Look at that.  You taught her a new word,” Mom praised._

_Jesus’s ears burned.  He ducked his head.  Frankie started to crawl on him._

_“Listen,” Mom said.  “It’s getting late.  Frankie needs her sleep, okay?  And so do you.  So why don’t you go get ready for bed?” Mom asked._

_“I am ready,” Jesus repeated.  If he really was safe that meant none of that stuff would happen again.  That meant he didn’t have to take anything off.  That’s what Mom said.  Nobody would make him._

_“Okay then.  Will you brush your teeth?”_

_Jesus sighed and got up.  But he didn’t see his orange toothbrush anywhere.  So he just ran some water in the sink and tried not to look at himself in the mirror.  He counted to 120 and then he turned off the water and came out._

_“Come on, love.  Upstairs,” Mom encouraged._

_Blood rushing.  No.  No.  No.  Jesus stumbled back.  He felt dizzy.  His vision went in and out. He was gonna throw up.  That would be two times today.  Then he’d have almost no food left inside.  That made him panicky._

_Stef was there, sitting him down, and putting his head between his knees.  He heard her voice all muffled:_

_“Breathe, Jesus. Slowly, honey.  That’s good.  Good job.  Slow breaths.”_

_She wasn’t touching him.  That was good.  He could calm down.  When he felt okay, he sat up, slow.  He still felt weird.  Like tipping over._

_“Listen.  I’m sorry.  Okay?  That was my mistake.  You sleep where you’re comfortable, okay?  Maybe tomorrow, we can look at your room together.  I keep forgetting you haven’t even been inside.”_

_“Is it still mine?” he managed, his voice scratchy._

_“Of course it is, love.  Just the same as you left it.”_

_“Okay,” Jesus nodded.  Then he took the blanket off the back of the couch and curled on the floor under the piano bench.  It felt like a fortress.  And it was away from windows and the door.  Far away enough to run if He broke in._

_But what about the rest of the family?_

_So Jesus faked sleep, but stayed awake, listening.  Just in case._


	29. Chapter 29

**_THEN_ **

**_Sunday, October 16, 2011_ **

**_Home: 2 days_ **

_The next day, the grandmas were gone.  So it was less people.  He must have fallen asleep at some point.  Because you had to fall asleep in order to wake up.  The first thing he did was check that the door was still locked and the curtains were closed.  The second thing he did was check on Mariana and Baby Frankie and to make sure Moms were here._

_He went upstairs, opening and closing the gate at the bottom as soft as he could.  Walking up the stairs and down the hall to find them, Jesus got distracted because the bedroom door that was closed wasn’t anymore.  It was open._

_Jesus stopped in the doorway and looked in.  The floor was pretty clean and his bed was made.  That definitely wasn’t like his room here.  But his dragon was still there on the bed.  And there were presents.  Jesus’s breath caught._

_He felt torn: presents meant they didn’t forget him maybe like Lena said.  But presents also meant Something Else.  Carefully, he went inside and picked up Ord.  Then he went back in the hall and closed the door.  He peeked in Mariana’s room.  She was sleeping.  He looked for Frankie and didn’t see her.  Just Callie._

_Closing that door, too, he eased Moms’ door open.  He heard baby talk inside and wished he could play with her.  But there was a big bed in there and Moms were sleeping in it.  Maybe if he woke them up they would be mad.  He closed their door, too._

_“What are you doing?” a voice accused.  He turned.  Brandon._

_Jesus stood, speechless._

_“You can’t just open closed doors,” Brandon insisted._

_“I didn’t,” Jesus answered.  (He was so good at lying he even believed his own lies sometimes.)_

_“I literally just watched you do it.”  Brandon was getting madder.  Better get out of there quick._

_Jesus backed up, keeping Brandon in his line of sight all the time. He held onto Ord tight.  Heart beating in his throat._

_“Hey, watch–”_

_First there was ground and then there wasn’t.  Jesus was falling.  He came to a stop at the second baby gate - the only one he closed.  Brandon thundered down the stairs, and jumped the second gate, opening it._

_“Shit, are you okay?” Brandon looked terrified._

_Jesus stood up, flinching.  “I’m sorry.  I forgot to close it.”_

_Tense, and not really feeling his body. Jesus waited for it.  The blows.  The angry words.  Instead he heard more feet on the stairs.  Frankie was crying._

_(Level 1 or Level 2?  Level 1 or Level 2????)_

_“What happened!” Mom asked.  “Honey, are you okay?”_

_“Yeah, I’m fine.  Sorry.  I was stupid.”  (He could not stop flinching.  Stop flinching, you’re embarrassing yourself.)_

_“B?” Mom asked._

_“Who fell?” Lena wondered, sounding alarmed._

_“Jesus just lost his balance.  But he, like, rolled down all the stairs.  And not in a cool way.  One of you should check for broken bones.  I’m surprised he’s standing.”_

_For the first time, Jesus registered Brandon’s voice.  How it shook.  How he looked pale.  Was he scared?_

_What were Moms gonna do?_

_“Can you walk, love?” Lena asked._

_He showed her he could.  “I’m really sorry.  I need to lock the gate at the top.  I don’t want the baby to fall because I was dumb.”_

_“Mariana, Callie and Jude are upstairs with her.  One of them will lock it.  I need to make sure you’re okay.” Lena insisted.  She put her arm around him.  He went._

_(Because that was what dumbasses did.  They made the same mistake over and over again.)_

_Jesus sat where Lena said to.  She touched all over his arms and legs.  She lifted his shirt, but then she put it down.  He felt something cold on his back.  On his hand.  He blinked._

_“You’re lucky,” Lena said, blinking back tears.  “All you have are a few scrapes.”_

_“It doesn’t hurt,” he offered.  What could he do to make this right?  If she was crying he messed up bad.  He cleared his throat.  “You can do Something Else to me,” he managed, his voice hoarse._

_“Do you hurt somewhere else?” Lena asked.  She took his hand and turned it over.  Then he realized.  She was looking at the marks from the chains._

_Jesus shrugged, but his heart was beating bad.  Why wouldn’t she just get it over with?  She stayed for a while, looking at him in the eyes._

_“I’m really sorry,” he said gravely.  “I know I deserve it.  So,” he nodded._

_“What do you think you deserve?” Lena asked._

_Jesus’s nose and throat burned.  “Something Else,” he repeated._

_“What’s something else, love?  I don’t understand.”_

_“Worst punishment,” Jesus mumbled._

_“No.  You don’t deserve any kind of punishment, Jesus.  You made a mistake.  Mom and I understand that.  We were just scared for you.”_

_She didn’t get it.  Obviously.  And Jesus couldn’t say the F-word or he might get in even more trouble.  So he just went to the table when they called him and ate cereal._

_Jesus felt on guard all day.  They let him eat.  That was good.  But he was still nervous.  Once he saw Lena winding lots of cloth around herself and putting Frankie in it to carry her.  Standing around the corner, he put on another cloth just like hers.  He wanted to be ready to hold the baby.  In case Lena changed her mind and really did get mad.  (Or worse, if He came and took her away in His car.)_

_“Are you okay?” Mariana asked.  “I heard you fall.”_

_“Can I hold her?” Jesus asked._

_Mariana looked him up and down.  At the extra fabric hanging from.  “Not in that.  It’s not on right.  She’ll fall out.”_

_Jesus took it off as fast as he could.  “Fine.  Now?”_

_“Sure.  You need to hold on tight because she lunges but she can’t keep her balance,” Mariana advised._

_Jesus took her in two hands, gingerly.  Holding another person was way intense.  He kept her away from his body._

_“You need to hold her close to you.  Like this.  Watch me.”_

_Jesus did.  It looked complicated, but Jesus would learn.  Mariana gave him another turn, and he adapted, turning Frankie so her back was to his front.  One arm under her butt, and the other hand on her front so she didn’t tip too far forward._

_“That works.  I think she likes looking around,” Mariana approved._

_From then on, Jesus carried Frankie around.  Jude kept asking to hold her but Jesus had never gotten to.  Jude got to already.  Plus he was way small and not a fast runner.  The only time Jesus gave Frankie to someone else was at meals._

_“Who has homework to finish?” Mom asked._

_“Seriously?  We have to do homework when Jesus just got home?” Mariana asked like she was insulted._

_Jesus was busy, cramming as many sour cream and cheese chips in his mouth as possible.  But the conversation made him stop.  He forced himself to swallow._

_“Can I go back to school tomorrow?” he asked.  (Hell if he was gonna stay home alone or just with adults again.  School had been the one thing he could count on to feel normal.)_

_“We can certainly talk about it,” Mom said._

_“So, are you at grade level or what?” Brandon asked._

_“I went to school on Friday,” Jesus said simply.  “I wanna go Monday.”_

_“Eighth grade or fourth?” Brandon snickered._

_“Eighth,” Jesus said._

_“All right.  Enough,” Mom said.  “Let’s just have a nice lunch.”_

_Jesus ate all the chips he could.  Plus three hot dogs.  Plus milk.  He was so full, he could explode.  But maybe he could have some more baked beans._

_“Let’s take a break before we have more food,” Lena suggested, and Jesus pulled his hand away._

_Jesus sat back.  He thought about Cookie Land.  He was okay._

_After lunch, everybody did homework, and Mom took Jesus up to see his room.  (That was okay because Frankie was napping.)  He didn’t say he saw his room already.  They probably thought he was rude enough._

_He walked around the edges, touching the walls, the bookcase, the desk.  Not the bed._

_“What do you think about sleeping in here tonight?” she asked._

_“Sure,” he shrugged.  (Did he have a choice?  Did it matter?)_

_In the hall, she said, “And the shower is for all of us to use, including you.  It’s important, especially for Frankie, that everybody showers regularly and washes their hands._

_“Why?” he asked.  Jesus was seriously curious.  He’d been way dirtier for way longer.  Two days was nothing._

_“Because, she’s a baby and babies don’t have the immune systems that older kids and adults have.  Because she was born early, she gets sick even easier.  So as her family, we need to protect her from germs and try our best to keep her healthy.”_

_“I’ll shower right now,” Jesus decided._

_“Sounds like a great choice,” Mom praised.  “I’ll find you something clean to wear.  We’ll get your own stuff soon, but in the meantime, would you mind borrowing from your brother?”_

_“Would he?” Jesus asked._

_“We’re used to sharing around here, love,” she said._

_“Hey.  I mean, excuse me?” Jesus tried again.  (He hated it so much when people said “hey.”  He always said “Hay is for horses,” and smacked Jesus hard in the mouth for it.)_

_“Yes?”_

_“Did you mean from Him?” Jesus swallowed.  “You’d get my stuff from Him?”_

_“No, sweetie.  The stuff at his house is evidence.  I meant we’ll buy you new stuff.  Is that okay?”_

_Nodding, Jesus went in the bathroom and closed the door.  Locked it.  Turned on the shower til it steamed and got in.  And tried to scrub off every germ._

_He just couldnt’t get to the ones inside.  Jesus tried and tried and the water was icy the next thing he knew._

_Jesus turned it off._

_He still felt dirty._

_Wrapping a towel around himself, Jesus opened the door to check for clothes._

_None._

_His heart dropped.  This was a trick.  He sat against the door, shivering.  Jesus realized he forgot to lock the second door, but whatever.  Let them come._

_Jesus knew it was coming._

_Voices outside the door._

_“No!  Mom!  It’s not fair!  Why does he have to wear my clothes?  Why can’t he wear Brandon’s?”_

_Jude.  (Obviously not used to sharing.)_

_“Because Brandon’s clothes are too big for him, and you two are almost the same size.  Please cooperate, love.”_

_But Jude was close to tears:  “No.  He’s gross and rude.  I don’t want him wrecking my clothes.”_

_“This is part of being in a family, Jude.  You share.  You help out.”_

_“He’s not even in our family!”  Jude exclaimed._

_“He is very much a part of our family.  He is your brother, and he needs to borrow some clothes, because he came with nothing.”_

_“Just like we did, Jude.”  (A new voice.  Callie?)  “We came with nothing.  What if nobody helped us?  What if the Fosters thought we were rude and gross?”_

_“Fine!” Jude huffed._

_Jesus was blanking out.  But he snapped back when he heard a knock._

_“Clothes are outside the door, love,” Stef called._

_“Thank you, “ Jesus said.  Automatic.  Clothes were a privilege._

_“You’re welcome.  Come and get them when you’re ready and come downstairs.  Your friend, Frankie’s awake.”_

_It was the promise of holding her that moved Jesus forward.  He cracked the door, reached an arm out and grabbed boxers, grey sweats and a striped tee shirt.  It was kinda small but still worked._

_The minute he saw Jude, Jesus felt awful.  Like an outsider.  Like he was pretending to fit here.  When he didn’t at all.  “Thanks for your clothes.  I won’t wreck them, I swear.  And I’ll give them back.”_

_“No big deal,” Jude pouted._

_The rest of the day passed in a haze.  Wearing borrowed clothes was a thing he did There sometimes.  Before Jesus was allowed to go to school._

_Maybe it was the same here.  Maybe he would have to wear these clothes until whenever he’d be allowed to go to school._

_That night, Jesus paid attention to what everyone else ate. What they did at the table. He stopped himself after one plate, even though it felt like he would panic from all the food still left on the table and from not feeling full._

_They played Monopoly and Jesus’s wheelbarrow got in jail.  He stopped playing and just watched.  Lena asked if he wanted to take his turn._

_“You don’t have to stay there, honey.  You can get out.”_

_He met Stef’s eyes, begging._

_She reached for his piece but he covered it._

_Then, ignoring Jude’s protests that she was cheating, Stef moved her top hat into jail right next to Jesus._

_He swallowed, getting the message:_

_They were in this together._

 


	30. Chapter 30

**NOW**

**Monday, November 3, 2014**

**Home: 3 years and 20 days**

Jesus is wishing right about now.  Wishing it was any day but family therapy day.  Wishing they were having anything but pizza.  He’s getting better about that - being able to wish without ridiculous amounts of guilt - it used to be almost impossible.  The second he started struggling in right now, he’d beat himself up mentally.  (Like, how could he ever complain about being with family when it’s all he’d ever wanted for years?  How could he even think about complaining about the wrong food when he should be glad he gets food at all?)

As Dr. H. would say: “Jesus, that’s a pretty low bar.  You deserve more than the bare minimum.  And it’s okay to not be okay, even out here.  Even right now.”

So, yeah, he’ll say it: he’s not okay.  Between the bustling Monday night crowd at Cucina Enoteca and all the unpredictability, the car ride and the impending car ride, and all his family being irritable as hell from therapy, Jesus kinda feels like screaming.  When he thinks about it, Jesus tries to keep up the mantra from the car.  It helps some, but not enough.

He hates the feeling of being out in public.  Knows people recognize him.  When they do, he hasn’t gotten past the super strong impulse to punch them in the face because really?  His picture was everywhere around here.  The news in LA covered his disappearance whenever the anniversary came around and a lot in the beginning.  (Of course, he wasn’t allowed out at all in the beginning…but still.)  Why couldn’t the billions of well-meaning people approach him Then and ask, “Are you Jesus Foster?”

Maybe he could have nodded.

Maybe he could have gone home after two months, not four years.

Plus, he doesn’t know every single person in this place and that puts him on edge.  What are their intentions?  Is he safe here?  Is his family?  Jesus has a hard time trusting it, even knowing the reality that He’s dead and can’t actually do anything now.  Sometimes reality just doesn’t mean a lot.  Not when the past is so damn vivid.

Jesus doesn’t wear his headphones inside because he doesn’t wanna draw attention.  He doesn’t take the blanket in either.  He wishes he could.  But those things literally ask for people to approach him: Poor unstable kidnapped kid.  Let’s see how he’s doing…

They have to wait for a table.  As if this isn’t bad enough already.  Jesus’s granola bar is on the DL in his pocket.  Cookie Land is there, and in a second, Jesus is in it.  It feels better here.  Familiar.  He’s not thinking about how hungry he is, because damn it, he’s got unlimited access to chocolate chip cookies, wafer cookies, chocolate squares, all different colors and shapes of candy and caramel.  Jesus doesn’t like caramel, but in Cookie Land it tastes like maple syrup.

“Buddy?  Can you hold this for a sec?”

Jesus blinks.  Frankie.  Her blanket in his hands.  (Even she knows just what to do if he starts looking blank.  She’s watched Moms and Mariana help him cope enough.)

“Yeah, no problem,” he says, trying to keep his tone from showing how truly pissed he is.

It isn’t her fault that Frankie knows how to keep him present.  That he and Moms have talked about what he needs when he loses focus like this.  He doesn’t want to be walking around in public like a damn zombie, but he needs Cookie Land right now or he’s probably gonna go nuts from the hunger.

Finally, a hostess comes to seat them.

Callie’s on one side of Jesus, and Mom is on the other.  He tries to focus on following Mama and Brandon to the table.  But there is a low buzz of so many voices.  There are so many people Jesus doesn’t know.  But they maybe know him.  They’ve maybe been following him, and…

“Keep it together,” Callie says lowly.  “We’re almost there.”

It helps.

They get to the table - there are too many of them for a booth - and Jesus doesn’t like being that close to everybody - and they all sit.  Everyone but him.

Jesus doesn’t know where the blanket is.  He glances around, and breathes a sigh of relief.  Frankie’s wearing it over her shoulders the way Jesus sometimes wears his own.  Jesus squeezes the back of the empty chair.

Seriously.  Why does it have to be pizza?

“Jesus.”

He jumps.  Mom is whispering to him.  Where did she even come from?

“We are not doing this tonight.”  (She says it like he has a choice.  Like pizza doesn’t in and of itself mean privilege.  Like going out to eat doesn’t mean privilege.)  Jesus is shaky on the human stuff right now.  On what he deserves.  And if he’s honest, on being one hundred percent aware of where exactly he is.  He thinks he knows, but isn’t sure.

“Jesus, I am serious.  Sit down.”

He doesn’t.  

(“Jesus” paired with any direction automatically does not compute in his brain.  It can’t.  If it did, Level 3 fear would take over.  Fear that makes him think of the promise He made on that first day:

If you ever answer to that name again, I’ll bury you…)

Instead, he reaches down deep inside, to whatever crumbs of agency he remembers from therapy.  She’s embarrassed.  That’s what’s driving Mom right now.  And that is the very last thing he needs.

“Your energy,” he says so softly, she has to lean in to hear him.  “…is not helping me right now.”

“Heads up,” Brandon calls and it turns out, his reflexes still work.  He’s caught the piece of olive bread Brandon tossed his way.

Holding food in his hand - and more than that,  holding warm food - jolts him forward.  It unsticks his brain.  Mostly he and Brandon don’t interact, but every once in awhile, he comes through.

Jesus nods his thanks.

“B…really?  This is a nice restaurant…” Mom says, exasperated.

“What?” he asks, like he’s done nothing.  “I just wanted him to try the bread.”

The distraction is enough for Jesus to pull out a chair and sit without feeling humiliated.

“Okay, guys, what are we having?” Mama asks.  Everyone talks at once, putting in their two cents.  Jesus concentrates on making his piece of bread last.  He doesn’t offer an opinion, even when Mama checks with him specifically.

They order, and it makes Jesus feel marginally more secure.  He’s downed one glass of water, knowing he can have as much as he wants, and it’s free.  His bread is gone.  Damn.  He should really leave the rest for the fam to try.  It was really good.

“All right, everyone.  What do we say about the office?” Mama coaches.

Jesus, Mariana, Callie, Brandon and Jude all chorus back, sounding bored: “What happens there stays there…”

Frankie’s hand is in the air.  She’s wiggling all around like she has to pee, but really it’s just how she sits.  (Jesus thinks maybe moving around helps her keep her balance, but he could be wrong.)  “Ooh!” she’s saying, waving her hand around.  “Ooh!”

“Yes, Frankie?” Mama smiles indulgently.

“What happens in the office stays in the office!  None of you guys raised your hands so it doesn’t count.”  She crosses her arms.  She’s cute when she’s smug.

“Who remembers the homework assignment?” Mama quizzes.

“Jeez, Mama.  We’re not in school.  You can go easy on VP mode…” Jude complains.  He slathers butter on some bread and takes a bite.  (Dude.  Now Jesus really wants butter…)

“Anybody?” Mama keeps trying.

“Our homework was to honor each other’s feelings,” Mom puts in helpfully.  Then she leans toward him.  “I’m sorry my energy made it harder for you,” she says.  “I know you’ve had a tough day.”

Jesus forces a grin.  “I see what you did there,” he says.  “Getting a head start on the homework.  Nice, Mom.”

“I also said it because it’s true.  Because I care about you,” she says.

“Okay,” he says.  It’s the best he can do right now, without a more involved explanation.

While Jesus is waiting for the food to arrive, he presses his feet down into the floor.  Puts his hands flat on the table.  Keeps his head up.  He takes a slow deep breath.  Then another.  Then another.  He needs to stay here and stay grounded and present if he has a chance in hell at making it through his this meal.

He tries to tune into just one conversation.  Mama’s asking Callie what attracts her to photographing “domestic items.”

“I don’t really know,” Callie shrugs.  “I mean, they’re what’s around.  What I have access to.  But I also just kinda like taking pictures of stuff that’s synonymous with home and family.  Simple things.  Real moments, you know?”

Mama raises her eyebrows, impressed.  “I hadn’t really thought of it that way, love.  I’m sorry my reactions were dismissive.”

“Synonymous…dismissive…” Brandon’s musing.  “Those have got to be like a 60-point words on Words With Friends…”

“Word nerd,” Mariana teases good-naturedly.

“You mean Scrabble?” Mom asks Brandon, smiling.

“I mean Words With Friends,” Brandon insists, sarcasm edging his voice.  “It’s what the kids today are playing.  The internet, Mom.  Not board games.”

(Words With Friends is a Facebook game.  It makes Jesus think of Cookie Land.)

He takes another deep breath, and looks around the table.  Frankie catches his eye, looking up from the picture she is coloring.  Sees what he’s doing.  She smiles and breathes in deep.  Then breathes out super exaggerated, like the Big Bad Wolf blowing down a house, according to Frankie.)

Jesus finishes the breath and cracks up.  Only his little sis could get a laugh out of him on a night like this.

“Moms look!  We’re breathing big like woofs!”

“Wolves,” Mama corrects, laughing, too.

Frankie spreads her hands.  “That’s what I said.”  She’s annoyed.  She knows what she’s saying, she just can’t say it yet.  The fam knows what she’s saying, too.  So when they make a big deal that she’s said something wrong, it gets to Frankie.

“Hey, Buddy.  Can I color with you?” Jesus asks, hoping to distract them both.

“Show!” she says happily.  (Sure.  It’s his favorite of her words because it sounds like she’s being really proper and fancy.  It’s cute as hell.)

She passes the crayons and paper around to him.  He stares at the empty page, and then starts filling it with color.  It takes him a second to realize he’s drawing Cookie Land.  What his favorite level looks like before he starts.

He vaguely hears Jude and Mariana talking about the school play at Anchor Beach.  Jesus won’t be able to go to that.  The costumes.  The dark.  All the unexpected stuff.  Callie is working Brandon for details about his senior project.  He says he has it handled.  He’s gotten approval.  He’s doing a thing.  She’ll know when everyone knows.

“Why?” he challenges.  “What’s yours?  Pears: A Pictorial Retrospective?”

“Shut up,” she laughs.  “I’m doing a thing,” she echoes cryptically.  “You’ll know when everyone knows.”

“Look at my senior project, guys!” Frankie screeches, not wanting to be left out.  “Mama proved it and it’s totally handled.”  She holds out her drawing of scribbles.  Jesus can just make out eight circles, with two sticks a piece coming out of the bottom.

“Is that us?” Jesus asks, before refocusing on his drawing of Cookie Land.

“Yes!  You get a car, and you get a car!”  (If Frankie’s quoting Oprah giving away cars she is way too wound up.)

“Frankie, my kind, smart, calm daughter.  Can you write your name for me?” Mom prompts.

“Easy-peasy,” Frankie says, and flips her paper over.  Because writing takes concentration, it forces Frankie to quiet down and focus on what she’s doing.  (Good call, Mom.)

“What are you drawing, love?” Mama asks.

He shrugs.  “Just a game.”

“Looks very elaborate,” she compliments.

“Very delicious,” he corrects and focuses on drawing the countless shapes.

When the pizza comes, Jesus almost doesn’t notice.


	31. Chapter 31

For the record - fancy or not - pizza’s still pizza in Jesus’s book.

He eats one slice, because it’s there, and then goes back to drawing Cookie Land.  It’s easier there.  No one stops him.  No one tells him to slow down.  He can’t get sick ‘cause all the food is invisible anyway.

In the actual world, no one bothers him. Moms can tell when he’s trying to cope.  And the rest of the fam is used to Jesus acting strange.  

But the smells are too alike.  And the crowd in the restaurant’s getting louder not less.  Jesus thinks about ditching and going to the bathroom just for some quiet, but it’s a bathroom and it’s not super private like at home.  He might get stuck in there and then Brandon - or worse Jude - will have to come in for him.

That won’t work.

He’s restless.  Even the Cookie Land picture isn’t helping.  A loud clatter sounds from the kitchen area, and Jesus is on his feet.

“I gotta walk around,” he says, keeping Moms back.  If they touch him right now it will be epically bad.

“Can I walk around?” Frankie asks.

Moms look at him.  The message is clear on their faces: Is she safe with you?  

Jesus extends a hand.  “Yeah.  Come on.  We’ll stay where you can see us, right?” he asks, for Frankie’s benefit (and Moms’peace of mind.)

“Right!” Frankie answers.

Outside, it’s quieter.  They hold hands and look at the sky.  Frankie’s voice breaks the silence first:

“Do you not like us?”

“What?” he’s more than a little shocked.  But then, she’s always been honest.  He thinks about getting down in front of her.  Making eye contact.  But he thinks better of it.  Maybe she can ask because they’re not super connected - just their hands.

He coughs a little.  Jesus blames the pizza.

“In therapy.  And not.  You yell, like about my Doc McStuffins…” Frankie pouts.

“That really bothered you, huh?” Jesus asks.

“Hurt my feelings…and made me jump.” Frankie admits.  Her voice is thick.  But she’s trying not to cry.  For him, Jesus realizes.  “That didn’t make me feel good…”

Bending down, Jesus scoops up Frankie, holds her just like he used to - her back to his front - one hand on her top to keep her back.  This way, she’s still looking out.  That’s better for both of them, but this way maybe she can feel that he does want her around.

“Did you know when you were a baby, I carried you around just like this?” he asks, giving her a chance to calm down before they talk some more.  She’s whimpering.  Sniffling.  But she loves to hear stories about herself.

“Nah-uh…” Frankie denies, not ready to forgive him yet.  “How come there’s no pictures then?”

“‘Cause I don’t like pictures,” he comments, swaying back and forth with her in his arms.

“Don’t like pictures.  Don’t like me…” Frankie says sadly.

“Now, that’s not true at all.  You’re my best buddy.”  Jesus takes a deep breath, uttering the words he’s been careful never to say, because they always felt wrong.  Always meant something wrong.  But Frankie needs to hear this.  Needs to know it:

“I love you very much.”

“If that’s real then why?  Why were you mean and loud about Doc McStuffins?”

Jesus shifts her in his arms, so they can see each other.  “Because even though it’s just a costume, it made me scared.  What scares you the most?”

“That bad movie E.T.  Jude watched it.  I’m scared E.T will come and get me…” Frankie shudders.

“Do you yell when you’re scared?” Jesus asks, curious.

“Sometimes…” Frankie puts her finger in her mouth.  Jesus takes her hand.  She forgot Night-Night inside.

“That’s okay.  Sometimes, I do, too.  I just need to remember to stop and breathe when I feel scared.  That way, I won’t yell.”

“Doctors help you, you know?” Frankie says gently.  “I wanna do that.  It’s how come I was Doc McStuffins.”

“You wanna be a doctor so you can help people?” Jesus guesses.

Frankie nods, and very slowly, almost lovingly, pokes him in the face.  “Help you.”

“I want you to do whatever you want to do.  Whatever makes you happy.  And maybe by the time you’re big, and a doctor, I’ll like them.”

“‘Cause you like me?” Frankie asks seriously.

“I do like you.  Okay?  I promise.  And I’m very sorry I hurt your feelings and made you jump.  I–”

Jesus’s words are cut off as Frankie nearly chokes him in a tight hug.  She smells like coconut and crayons and nothing at all he’s afraid of.  He pats her back and sways with her.

“I’ll be a doctor in regular clothes, okay?” she promises, his face between her hands.  “Like Dr. H?  So you won’t be afraid anymore.”

“Even if you’re a regular doctor,” he says, boosting her higher.  “I’ll still come see you.  We’ll still be buddies.”

She lays her head down on his shoulder and he just stands with her.  It’s evening and the sun’s getting lower in the sky.  It’s a bright orange that he loves.

Jesus scans the people around them.  Spots a lady his moms’ age approaching them.  He can tell by looking at her that she recognizes his face.  She doesn’t know him.  Jesus puts up a hand while she is still a ways back.  He warns her away with a look.

It works.

Frankie’s crashed out on his shoulder by the time Moms, Mariana, Jude, Brandon and Callie come out.  Mom smiles and makes little squeaking noises.  She puts Frankie’s blanket around her.  Jesus carries her to Mama’s car and gets in, too.

Mom hands off his headphones and blanket for the ride home.  Mama reaches over to turn on the Brandon CD but he stops her, clearing his throat.

“Can we talk, instead?” he asks.

“Of course,” she says quietly.  “You guys were outside a while.  Everything okay?”

“Yeah.  We just talked.” he answers, not wanting to betray Frankie’s confidence.

“That’s good,” Mama answers, looking at him in the rearview mirror.  It’s still light out.  The sky looks on fire.

“I didn’t know you got overwhelmed,” Jesus offers, remembering what Mama shared in therapy.

“I think everyone does,” Mama muses.

“That Day, I was in back, too…” Jesus begins.  Sometimes, it’s just like that.  There’s a moment and he just has to share.  “Not at first, ‘cause I got in the passenger side…but, you know…later.”

Mama listens.  Looks at him again in the rearview mirror.

“It’s hard being sick.  I think about it more.”

“I bet,” she says, compassion in her eyes.  In her voice.

“Do you?” he asks.  “Think about it?”

“All the time,” she nods.  “Every day your brothers and sisters come home from school.  That’s when I knew.”

School let out at 3:03.  More than four hours after Jesus got in That Car.  It’s the first time he’s heard this.

“Did you think I ran away?” Jesus asks.  He always needs to check.  In case her answer changes.

“No.  I knew you wouldn’t have gone anywhere without Mariana,” Mama offers a sad smile.

Jesus is quiet, watching the scenery pass.  “You know me so much better than Him,” Jesus mutters.

“I would hope so,” Mama says seriously.

Silence again.  Jesus is thinking.  Wondering something.  Needs to ask in a way that’s okay for her.  That doesn’t make her bummed out.  But then, Jesus doesn’t think there’s a good way to ask something like this, and maybe he just needs to go for it:

“Do you remember when I got here?” Jesus swallows.

“First time or second?” Mama asks.  

“Second,” he manages.

“I remember both,” she confirms softly.

“Do you remember what it was like when I came back?” he asks.  “Did you still like me?  Was I the same?”  Jesus’s talk with Frankie has made him wonder things.  Did Moms pick him up?  Hold him?  Tell him they still liked him?  Loved him, even?

“You were quiet.  Tentative.  You asked a lot of questions.  You loved Frankie–”

“Did you love me?” he asks.  It’s quiet, but insistent.

“Yes, honey.  We loved you so much.  We were so glad you were home.  And, no, you weren’t the same, but neither were we.  We changed with you.  We had to get to know each other again, but once we did, and you were more comfortable here, that really helped.  We liked you.  And we loved you.”

“I can’t remember it,” Jesus admits.  “It’s messed up that I remember so much of Then, but I don’t remember coming home.  I know you guys say I came back in the middle of October, but I seriously don’t have any memories between, like, October 12th and New Year’s 2012.  And I don’t remember before fourth grade either…”

“Sometimes, your mind hides memories, because they’re hard,” Mama says.

“But coming home wasn’t hard.  It was good,” Jesus insists.  Because he’s sure that’s how it should have felt.  Instead of memories, he has vague impressions of feelings.  Mostly numbness and fear.

“It was both.  And it was probably a trauma of a different kind - a shock - to come back home.  You had lived so differently.  And our family was very different, too.  That Day, you had Brandon and Mariana.  When you came back, we also had Callie and Jude and Frankie.  That was hard for you to get used to.”

“Oh,” Jesus says.  He’s so relieved she doesn’t blame him for not being happy.  “But you said I liked Frankie,” he points out.

“You and Frankie have always gotten along,” Mama smiles.

“Yeah, she is pretty awesome,” Jesus smiles.  But it fades.  “I really have to work on managing my triggers.  My reactions to my triggers.  They’re really getting to her.”

“If Mom or I can help, just let us know.  You know we’re big supporters of working on ourselves.”

Jesus nods.  They’ve pulled into the drive.  Parked.  Carefully, he reaches over and unbuckles Frankie’s carseat.  Lifts her into his arms, and carries Night-Night in his other hand.

“Okay?” Mama asks.

“Yeah, I got her,” Jesus nods.  Mom’s car is here.  The front door is open.  He goes inside, and kicks off his shoes.  Carries Frankie upstairs and taps on Mariana’s door.  Jesus still isn’t that comfortable around bedrooms that aren’t his.  And he just can’t make himself cool around beds.

Mariana pulls open the door.

“Special delivery,” Jesus says softly.

Mariana melts.  “Awwww…” she murmurs.  “You guys are so precious.”  Seeing Frankie like this pretty much erases her anger at Moms about her chronic stomach issues and at him about her bracelets.  He’s glad for any reprieve.

“Stop it and take her, please,” Jesus laughs quietly.

Finally, Jesus gets to his room.  He arranges the blankets the way he likes.  Changes into comfy sweats in the bathroom and is totally ready to fall asleep when a knock sounds.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Did you take your antibiotic tonight, love?” It’s Mom, and no he didn’t.  Bummer.

He stands and goes to the hall to meet her.  He eats the chocolate pudding and the granola bar he’s been saving.  He drinks a whole eight ounces of water.  Swallows the pill.

“Thanks.  I totally spaced.”

“I’m a Mom.  It’s what I do, sweetie.”

Jesus stands still.  He really wants to hug her, but they are surrounded by bedrooms.  Jogging down the stairs, she follows, confused.

“Did you forget something else?” Mom asks, perplexed.

“Yeah, I did.”  In the living room now, he turns and wraps her in his arms.  He rests his chin on her head.  “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She smiles.  Looks surprised, but happy:  “You,” she says calmly, “are worth it.”

Jesus walks away, and upstairs, waving behind him.  

In his room again, with the light off, but the one in the hall on, Jesus falls asleep listening to the sounds of home: the dishwasher running.  The TV on not playing the news but the Cooking Channel.  (He feels totally loved and wholly understood when they play the Cooking Channel.)

Jesus falls asleep feeling okay, for the first time in days.  Maybe it was listening to Frankie.  Maybe it was being heard by Mama.  Or maybe it was what Mama said:

Maybe it was both.

 


	32. Chapter 32

_**THEN** _

_**Monday, September 10, 2007** _

_**Missing: 3 days** _

_A memory:  Josh was little.  Maybe four.  Mom (his real Mom, Ana) was there, but she wasn’t.  Her friends, too.  He and Mari try to get food, but they get yelled at.  Hit.  Sent outside.  Even at night.  Even in the rain._

_He blinked.  Looked around.  It was so dark, Josh wasn’t sure if it was day or night.  There were no windows to tell him.  No clocks.  It smelled wet and gross, but mixed with laundry soap.  Sometimes, he could see the deer head on the wall, if the light was on at the top of the stairs.  The deer was creepy and dead.  There was a mini fridge but it just had beer in it.  Sometimes, Josh wanted a beer so bad because he was thirsty.  He knew it was wrong but swallowing his spit wasn’t working.  There were a bunch of boxes like a wall and Josh wondered what was in them.  What was behind them.  (The washer and dryer and what else?)  There was a bucket for a toilet.  There was the mattress in the corner.  There was the music on loud enough to hurt his ears._

_And there was him.  And the pole.  And the chains.  And the tape.  He tried screaming,  Tried fighting.  But nothing happened.  And He was gone.  And Josh hated being alone._

_**Friday, September 14, 2007** _

_**Missing: 1 week** _

_Lena rolled over and had three seconds where everything was normal.  Where she was sure it was a regular Friday where she would drive the kids to school.  Where she and Stef would go to work.  Where they would have family movie night.  It was Jesus’s turn to pick the movie._

_Jesus._

_Missing._

_God._

_Tears welled in Lena’s eyes as she opened them.  She saw the empty space Stef had occupied was currently filled by Mariana.  Over the last week, their daughter had fallen apart.  She could not sleep alone in her room.  Had nightmares.  Regressed in other ways._

_Therapy, which had gone down to once a week for both Mariana and Jesus, post adoption, was now three times a week, and Mariana mostly sat the whole time.  She refused to open up.  (Though she was plenty open at home, and threw impressive ranting fits over not wanting to go to school, eat dinner, or go to sleep.)_

_Lena thought she understood, but she also knew Mariana needed routine and predictability.  She needed an education._

_(She needed her brother.)_

_At least they were able to live in their house again.  Lena appreciated Sharon’s hospitality, but constantly felt underfoot until law enforcement said what Lena already knew:  There was no evidence of a crime here.  No evidence Jesus had ever made it home that day._

_Checking the time, Lena shook Mariana’s shoulder.  “Up and at ‘em, love,” she said gently, shaking Mariana’s shoulder._

_Mariana opened her eyes, and burst into tears._

_Lena tried for patience.  She’d had the same reaction moments ago.  She pulled Mariana into her arms, even when she fought._

_“It’s not fair!” she wailed.  “I didn’t want to wake up!”_

_“I know,” Lena soothed, stroking Mariana’s hair._

_“What?” Brandon said, breathless.  He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom, looking startled, and on alert for any signs of distress.  He had his backpack on already.  Ready to go._

_“Get out!” Mariana screamed._

_“Hey.  Easy,” Lena reprimanded.  “B, it’s fine.  If you wait, I can give you a ride to school.”_

_“Oh.  I called Dad.  He’s picking me up.”_

_“Okay,” Lena answered.  “Love you.”_

_“Bye.”_

_**Saturday, September 22, 2007** _

_**Missing: 15 days** _

_Stef barely slept._

_The hours she was supposed to, she laid awake, wondering where Jesus was.  All the places he could be.  They got more and more devastating as the hours passed: he was in trouble and scared to come home, he was at Ana’s (even though she had been cleared), he was being kept against his will.  He was somewhere, dead, even though Mom had insisted that would never happen to them._

_She got out of bed while it was still dark, nearly tripping over Mariana, in her sleeping bag on the floor.  Stef scooped her up and tucked her into bed beside Lena.  She dressed in the dark and stopped by B’s room to kiss him goodbye._

_He jerked awake: “Are you going?  I should call Dad.”_

_“Lena is here.  Your dad is going to be out with me, but we will text you with any news, okay?” Stef whispered._

_“Can’t I help?  I know stuff you guys don’t.  Like where he hangs out.  I know I can find him if you just let me try.”_

_“Love, we’ve checked the beaches and the playgrounds, okay?  We checked Cucina, in case he hitched a ride there for pizza.  We called his friends.”_

_Brandon’s face fell.  Then, just as quickly, he looked hopeful:  “What about his bio mom?  Or dad?  Do you guys know anything about them?”_

_“Their birth mom has an alibi that checked out.  Their birth dad’s in jail.”_

_“For kidnapping?”  Brandon’s eyes are wide._

_“No, love, for other things.  Listen, I love you very much and I love that you want to help, but the best thing for me is to know that you are safely where you should be today.  So text me when you get to school.”  Stef bent down to kiss his forehead._

_“I made you a lunch.  It’s in the fridge next to mine and Mariana’s.”_

_“You don’t have to do that, love, but thank you.” Stef smiled._

_“No big deal.  I’m used to it.”_

_It hit Stef as she was driving to today’s search site, exactly what B meant:  he was used to making three lunches.  One for him.  One for Mariana.  And one for Jesus.  With Jesus gone, Brandon couldn’t bring himself to just make two._

_She wiped her eyes, parked the car and greeted all the volunteers who turned up to search.  Even this early on a Monday morning, they still had a good turnout.  So, even though Stef’s stomach had yet to truly settle since hearing the news, she put on a brave face.  Smiled._

_“Thanks for coming out, Chris,” she said, recognizing the man whose mom brought TV dinners that night.  He came to visit her about once a week, despite the long commute from LA._

_“Of course,” he said, sending her a sad smile.  He pinned on a button on his shirt, showing Jesus’s fourth grade picture.  HAVE YOU SEEN ME was typed below his face.  “I’m real sorry, Stef,” he said.  “But we’ll find him.”_

_“Thank you,” Stef nodded, and took a deep breath.  She needed to look for her son._

_**Sunday, September 23, 2007** _

_**Missing: 2 weeks and 2 days** _

_When the music shut off, Josh froze.  He was back.  Josh had no idea how long it had been, but it felt like forever.  Josh had eaten all the pizza He couldn’t finish the last time He was here.  (One piece.)  Finished the bottle of water._

_Josh felt dirty.  Wanted a shower almost more than he wanted sleep.  Or food.  Or light._

_The bare lightbulb clicked on and blinded Josh.  It stabbed his eyeballs.  He closed his eyes against the pain._

_Even though Josh hated it when they went to the mattress, he was also freezing and hurting.  The mattress was kind of soft.  And He was warm at least.  Josh was disappeared a million miles away when his hair is yanked._

_“I said, ‘Hey Dumbass.  Ask me what I did this weekend?’”_

_“What did you do this weekend?” Josh asked in a voice as dead as the creepy deer head on the wall._

_He smiled.  “I searched for some little brat from San Diego.  Talked to his mom.  Ate donuts and soup.  Oh, they fed us real good.”_

_Undoing something from His shirt, He dropped it on Josh’s chest._

_Josh didn’t breathe.  Stared at the ceiling.  Spelled with his leg-marker._

_“PICK IT UP!” He screamed._

_Josh felt his body jolt.  Started shaking.  But he obeyed.  Picked up the thing in trembling hands and squinted at it._

_In the bad light, Josh can just make out the face.  The pieces click together as He goes back to doing Something Else, like He is making up for all the lost time._

_He had searched for Jesus?  For_ him _?  He had talked to Stef?  Josh’s heart beat faster.  It was like he was frozen afraid._

_The picture squeezed in his hand.  (Had she held it, too?)_

_HAVE YOU SEEN ME?_

_Josh’s fingers opened.  It clattered to the floor._


	33. Chapter 33

_**Saturday, October 13, 2007** _

_**Missing: 1 month and 6 days** _

_Each anniversary was worse in a way Lena did not know how to prepare for.  The first day.  The first week.  Two weeks.  Three weeks.  Month.  It felt like a knife being twisted.  Like aching emptiness.  But it was the quiet that got to Lena the most._

_With three kids, the house had been alive with noise.  Questions.  Laughing.  Arguing._

_Now, Brandon spent most afternoons at his dad.  And Mariana had moved from intense anger to depression.  She was eerily quiet.  A few times, Lena found her just sitting in Jesus’s room, on his bed.  More than anything, though, the house lacked Jesus.  His contagious laugh.  His curiosity.  His incessant questions: “Mama, what’s for dinner?”  “How did people find stuff without Google?”  “Can I get a skateboard for my birthday?”_

_The sound she missed more than anything?  The low hum of his skateboard as he used it indoors.  They’d gotten after him time after time after time about it.  (“Not in the house, Jesus!”)_

_But Lena would give anything to hear him talk about ollies and kickflips.  She would give anything hear him - slide, stop, grind.  Hop, turn, coast - back into their lives._

_When Stef got home, Lena fell apart in her arms.  Apparently, the one month and six day anniversary was just as significant, just as brutal, as all the rest._

_Stef held her, not speaking.  They had made a pact to not let this tear them apart.  So that when Jesus came home, he would still have them, and the house, and his family.  So that even though so much else will have changed, these things will remain the same._

_“We should have let him skate in the house….” Lena sobbed in Stef’s arms.  “For months, we told him, not in the house.  Not in the house.  But I would give anything to have him skate through here, tearing up the floors…  Please tell me he’ll come home.”_

_“He’ll come home, love,” Stef promised, kissing Lena’s head.  “He will.  We can’t give up.  Do you hear me?  We cannot give up.”_

_**Tuesday, October 23, 2007** _

_**Missing: 1 month and 16 days** _

_Jesus had been missing a month and a half the first time Stef got the call she dreaded._

_Captain Roberts:  “Foster, there’s a body.  Fits your son’s description.”_

_Stef hadn’t heard anything else, except directions.  Vasquez drove, looking unsure but trying to ply her with outlandish assurances, based on his ‘sense about these things’:_

_“It won’t be him, Stef.”_

_She didn’t answer._

_“Trust me.  It won’t be.  I got a sense about these things.”_

_Silence._

_“You ever think about talking to that psychic?  Sylvia Browne?  She could probably feel his energy or whatever and have him back, no sweat.”_

_She stared out the window._

_When they arrived, Stef steeled herself.  Walked into the woods and just off the hiking trail  Introduced herself.  Stated her business._

_They pulled back the sheet._

_A boy, about Jesus’s age.  A head wound.  But the wrong face.  Too small to be Jesus._

_Stef said thank you and walked back to the car where Vasquez was waiting, a smug smile on his face.  Arms crossed.   Blocking her door._

_“Wasn’t him, was it?””_

_Stef shook her head._

_“I knew it!  Told you, didn’t I?  Didn’t I tell you?  I have a–”_

_His bragging was cut short as Stef vomited all over his shoes._

_**Friday, November 16, 2007** _

_**Missing: 2 months and 9 days** _

_Josh had started talking to the deer.  Just for something to do.  It felt like forever since he came Down Here.  The chains hurt and he was cold.  Josh was kinda used to it, but not really.  But he was way skinny now.  Gross._

_The first time Josh talked to the deer, he had whispered:  “Moms don’t love me.”  It was right after He gave Josh the pin.  He took it with Him, though, and that made Josh cry but only because he was still Jesus a little.  Josh didn’t want to be.  He needed to not care.  “I don’t even think I have moms for real,” he told the deer.  “If I had a real mom that was a cop, she’d figure out right where I was and come get me, like on TV.”_

_The second time, after Josh got beat up very bad, he whispered, “I miss Mariana.  I just want to see her one more time.”  Josh had tried to talk to her in his head but she wasn’t there.  That made him sadder than anything.  He was still sure she was real though.  Even if he had to be fake.  Even if Moms couldn’t love him because they weren’t real.  Josh knew Mariana still was._

_Now, he whispered to the deer: “I feel older.  I think I’m getting older.  I don’t know what day or time or anything it is, I just think I am.  Do you think my birthday came?”_

_The deer didn’t answer._

_But the door opened.  Heavy boots meant it was Him.  Josh closed his mouth.  Turned off his brain.  He wasn’t supposed to think._

_“Got a surprise for you,” He said.  He unchained Josh from every chain.  (Was this it?  Could he go home?)  Josh stayed blank.  They went upstairs.  Into the bathroom.  “You’re going to school on Monday.  Which means we need to get you presentable.”_

_Josh showered with the bad water pressure and the almost-used-up soap.  The water ran brown around his feet for a while.  Every once in awhile He’d open the curtain and say: “Let me see.”_

_Those times, Josh stood still.  Let him look.  When He took out His phone, Josh almost lunged for it. Because he had to call home.  Tell them he was coming back to Anchor Beach.  But Josh controlled it.  All this time?  Josh could wait longer._

_He started taking pictures.  Josh stared at the wall._

_“Smile,” He said, like it was normal to do this.  “You should be happy.”_

_Josh did.  Because he was happy._

_“So, you’re gonna have to fit in with the kids around here.  Your name is Josh Mitchell.  You’re nine years old.  Your birthday is March 5th.  I adopted you.  Your real parents are dead.”_

_(May 17th.  No, you didn’t.  No, they’re not.)_

_“No acting weird.  Got it?  You participate in class.  You be respectful.  And you damn well better not even think about trying anything.  If anyone recognizes you with all this hair, and these,” He threw clothes at Josh.  A striped shirt and skinny jeans.  (The shirt had long sleeves.  What month was it?)_

_Wait.  If He was talking about not getting away…did that mean…he was going to school_ here _?  Josh rewound the conversation:  Your name is Josh Mitchell._

_Oh no._

_“…Just play dumb.  You’re good at that.”_

_For the whole rest of the day, He let Josh walk around the house and do regular stuff.  Still had to ask permission, but it was way better than Down There.  Josh got to eat three times a day.  Sleep in a bed.  Josh had a bedroom.  That night, when Josh came back from brushing his teeth, he found Him in his bed._

_“I’ve been so good to you all day, and you got nothing to say to your old man?”_

_Josh swallowed.  Got in.  Went blank._

_“What do you say?” He asked, creepy quiet._

_“Thank you,” Josh managed._

_“Thank you,_ Dad _,” He growled, yanking Josh’s head back._

_“Thank you, Dad,” Josh echoed, dead inside._

_**Saturday, November 17, 2007** _

_**Missing: 2 months and 10 days** _

_Mariana’s therapist suggested a change of scenery.  Get her away from the cameras.  The news vans.  The search.  The questions.  So, Lena took her and Brandon to her parents’ house for the weekend, while Stef stayed home.  (So that someone would always be  there if Jesus tried to call.  Even though they hardly used the landline, they had made all the kids memorize it, and Stef and Lena’s cells, in case of an emergency.)_

_Mariana was enamored by Dad’s aptitude for building things, and hung out in the garage with him for hours.  It was the most excited she had been, since…_

_Brandon stayed in, and dutifully practiced piano, her mom a willing audience of one, clapping every time he finished a song.  Despite mistakes._

_They ate well.  And that night, with Brandon on the floor and Mariana tucked in the spare bedroom under “Grams’ magic blanket” she slept._

_Lena called home to check in.  No word._

_Mom came and sat on the couch.  Dad was in the den watching Leno, so they had a few minutes to themselves.  Finally._

_“How are you?” Mom asked, not beating around the bush._

_Lena signed._

_“You’re not sleeping.”_

_“Not well..” Lena admitted.  “I’m up and down all night.  Can’t settle.”_

_Mom just listened._

_It was exactly what Lena needed.  “That day,” she started.  “Jesus didn’t come back to class after recess.  Wasn’t even at recess.  Or lunch.  But that day, there was an emergency on the playground.  One of the kids in Jesus’s class fell off the monkey bars and broke her arm.  Bad break.  So he got missed.  Normally, a teacher calls the office if a child goes rogue, especially one of mine.  But she didn’t.  And by the time we reported him missing, it had already been four hours since anyone had seen him…”  Her voice broke._

_“Sweetheart, you can’t blame yourself,” Mom said, putting her mug down._

_“Who else can I blame, Mom?  Jesus is a little boy.  I was the adult, and I was too busy making sure somebody else’s child was safe, while mine was disappearing!”_

_Lena broke, feeling her Mom’s arms around her.  She cried for Jesus.  She cried for her own stupidity.  Felt sure her heart was breaking.  It wasn’t until some minutes passed, and her tears were subsiding that Lena made out her mother’s voice:_

_“This is not your fault, baby.  Not your fault at all.  The only place for blame to rest is on the shoulders of the person who did this.  We just have to trust that you and Stef have taught him well.  That he has everything he needs to survive.”_

_“He’s just a kid, Mama,” Lena lamented._

_“He stayed alive to get to you, didn’t he?” she said, cupping Lena’s face between her hands.  “Have faith.”_

_She closed her eyes, and willed the message across the miles to wherever Jesus was:_

Have faith.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**NOW**

**Saturday, November 15, 2014**

**Home: 3 years, 1 month and 1 day**

Hands down, the best thing that’s happened in the last week and a half is Jesus’s bronchitis being kicked in the ass.  He’s done with the coughing.  Done with the antibiotics.  It’s a relief to say the least.  So much of his life is better when he doesn’t have to deal with being sick on top of crappy anniversary memories.  This time around, it seems like he’s almost in the clear with them.  

It’s about damn time.

Now, he can focus on really doing the homework Dr. H. had assigned.  Mariana had said some heavy stuff to him in therapy, and he hadn’t been in a place to respond then.  But checking the mailbox outside his room last week had given him an idea.  He asked Moms, and after paying them in advance with $20 of saved allowance money, Mama ordered him another small, metal, indoor mailbox.  He mounted it on the wall outside Mariana’s room, and immediately opened the lines of communication:

_Hi Mariana.  Hope school was good today.  Missed you.  Jesus_

So far, he hasn’t gotten a response, but he’s not giving up.  Mariana’s too important to him.  He knows it does have to be all about him, and that it has been, especially lately.  But, the same as with school, when Jesus is feeling steady, it’s important to get used to checking in with his sibs, too.

Also, Jesus has been really trying to figure out how to handle this whole Ethan thing.  It’s not going away.  He keeps emailing.  It’s been almost two months since he sent the first letter.  Just over a month since Jesus found it.  Now, Ethan wants to meet up.  To talk face to face.

Over time, the kid had calmed down a little.  Got curious instead of hostile.  Thought about taking Jesus up on that “real conversation” thing.  

(They’ve actually never done that.)  

Dr. H. is big on Jesus making his own choices, but she’s also not afraid to advise him.  She’s made no secret of the fact that she thinks meeting up without a plan is an “ill-advised idea.”  She’s encouraged him in thinking through other options: namely meeting in her office, with all the parents’ knowledge.

Jesus doesn’t know how he feels about that just yet.  (He actually does, he just doesn’t want to tell her he thinks her idea is terrible.)  Ethan’s been pretty clear: if they meet?  No parents.  

“Hey!  Hello!” Brandon calls, snapping his fingers at Jesus.  “The living room won’t clean itself!”

“If you like your fingers, I’d stop snapping them at me…” Jesus says.  There isn’t anything that irritates him more.  (Seriously.  Snap at him at the wrong time and he might show up at your side, Level 1 submissive without even realizing.)

“Ooh, I’m so scared…” Brandon mocks.

Jesus turns the vacuum on, like he is revving an engine.  It isn’t his fault Moms have a thing about cleaning on Saturdays, and it isn’t his fault that Moms severely restrict his cleaning.  (Since it was so much a part of his life Then, Jesus can’t do more than a few chores without it severely affecting his groundedness.)  But seriously, if they wanted the house really clean, they would let Jesus loose in the places he can’t touch: the kitchen, which Mom says she has handled, or the bathroom, which Brandon does a half-assed job on, at best.  (But you wouldn’t know it, based on how much rank bleach Jesus can smell despite all the windows being open.)

He pours himself into one of the only jobs he has, getting major pleasure out of blocking out Brandon’s bitching about how “The King never has to do chores.”

Jesus uses the time to mull over his Ethan problem.  It still shocks him just how quick the subject lines indicated a change of heart, but maybe all Ethan really wanted from day one was to talk to someone who got it, not to talk about how bad Jesus sucked.

_Its me the selfish asshole_  had eventually come back as:   _This sucks almost as bad as you do_.  Then,  _You are the actual worst and I hate you_.  

When Jesus stopped engaging with the taunts and just answered with statements like: _You realize He wanted us to hate each other, right.  You’re giving him so much power right now.  Stop_. Ethan’s messages started to change:

_How would you know?_

_Sorry, I just hate everything._

_Is it like this for you?_

_Can we meet up?_

Jesus is going to seriously have to think about that last one.  He’s too smart to go alone.  Too smart to go with Ethan’s first invite and go over to his house.  Jesus is with Dr. H. in that they need to meet somewhere neutral, and he absolutely needs backup.  Jesus just isn’t sure what that looks like yet.

He’s about to start pulling furniture away from the walls to vacuum under it when Callie walks through and unplugs the vacuum.

(The family’s universal sign to him that his “thorough” job is about to veer into “neurotic” territory.)  He scowls at her.

“Can I use this?  Thanks,” she asks, without waiting for an answer, trying to take it out of his hands.  He holds tight.

“Dude!  Whatever happened to Yes, No Less consent?”

“Doesn’t apply when you’re about to start flipping couches.  We talked in therapy, decided as a family, we can say no for you, but not yes.”

“That was for Moms, not for you guys!” he objects.

“I’m saying no, bud.  Flipping the furniture is too far.  Let Callie have it,” Mama calls, on her way back out to help Jude with yard work.

For a few seconds, he and Callie are locked in a staring contest.  Her gaze is really intense and instead of blanking him out, it forces him to focus.

Jesus hears Brandon from the bathroom doorway.  “Like a dog with bone…”

He lets go, to step up to Brandon.  “Why don’t you shut the hell up?” Jesus insists, on-edge.  He had gone from focused and okay to Trauma City in a blink.  Everyone knew better than to refer to Jesus as anything less than a person.

They stand nose to nose but Jesus has the edge physically.  Three years home and he has more than caught up.  He’s got muscle on Brandon, who’s pale these days and kinda thin.  But Brandon’s eyes sparkle with what was half big brother assery and half pleasure in knowing exactly how to set Jesus off:

“Good boy,” Brandon says, patting Jesus on the head like an animal.

( _Good boy_.  His voice.  His bathroom.  The bleach.  The fear.)

Only this time, Jesus doesn’t go blank.  Because in less than a second, he is on Brandon, tackling him to the ground.


	35. Chapter 35

Jesus is totally present.  Totally focused.  Totally here.  And yet, somehow, he’s none of those things.  All he knows is Brandon flipped some invisible switch.  Jesus is in full on manimal mode, because Brandon’s stupid face is just right there, and Jesus has to punch it.

Brandon’s lip is split.  His cheek is gonna bruise. But somehow, despite years of lifting weights, and Brandon’s years of  _not_  lifting weights, he gets the upper hand.  Jesus is on his back, and Brandon is wailing on him, screaming:

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve had to give up because of you?!  My dad isn’t even allowed  _in this house_  because of you!  Because you can’t tell the difference - in your freaking  _traumatized head_  - between a good guy and a sociopath!”

Jesus is ready to go for round two, but hands are pulling Brandon off.  Callie’s yelling, “Brandon!  That’s enough!”

On his feet, Jesus’s eyes flash and he takes a step, ready to knock Brandon to next week, but Mom’s between them.  She warns Jesus back with a look - the only person who could stop him in his quest to beat Brandon’s ass.

Jesus’s head clears in time to see Brandon walking away.  Hear the door slamming.  Frankie crying.  

Damn.  He really messed up this time.

Callie’s still here, should Mom need her, but he sees their silent conversation.  Catches Mom’s shake of the head, dismissing her.

“I need you,” she says with an intense firmness, “to sit down now.”

He does.  It’s not  _until_  he does that Jesus realizes he is shaking.  Mom is not messing around.  She squats in front of him (a bit lower on purpose) so that her face and her eyes are right there to focus on.  He drops his gaze.  His adrenaline’s still surging, but he’s fine.  Just bruised his knuckles.

“Focus on me, Jesus,” Mom says.  “Push your feet down into the floor.  Square yourself up.  Hands on your knees.  Head up.  Breathe.  Slowly.”

It’s like Mom’s on repeat because she doesn’t stop until she is sure as hell that Jesus is present.  Then, she addresses him.  “That can absolutely never happen again.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he murmurs.  It’s the single hardest word for him to say.  He almost never can, except that Mom needs to know that he is listening.  That he is taking her seriously.

“What if Frankie was there?  What if she tried to break you two up before I got there?”

“I don’t know,” he manages.

“Mama mentioned you said you wanted to work on your triggers.  That she offered our help.”

Jesus nods.  He remembers the conversation, and Mama asking later, if she can share it with Mom.  He remembers nodding.

“Part of being in a family, being our son, and being  _human_ , means you can trust Mama and me.”

“Mom…” Jesus can feel his ears burning.  He’s heard this.  It’s embarrassing that she thinks he needs to hear it again.

“I can see this is making you uncomfortable, Jesus, but I need you to hang in there with me.  This is important.  Can you listen?”

He nods.  Wills his ears to stop burning.

“You can trust us and you need to be able to trust us to keep you safe.  I understand that as a very little boy…and later…you’ve had experiences that have made trusting adults very hard.”

“Yeah.”  Jesus swallows.  Nods.

“I need you to know that this is different.  Mama and I will be here for you.  We’ll help you.  We have never hurt you and we never will.  It’s our responsibility as your parents to keep you safe.  But with six of you, we don’t always catch when you’re in distress.”

He can’t help it.  He shrugs.  Jesus is so used to that.

“It’s not no big deal, love.  It’s  _the biggest deal_.  You and your brothers and sisters deserve to have us there when you need us.  But to do that, we need to  _know_  you need us.  So, I want to talk about an option with you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?  Are you still with me?” she asks.  

“Yeah.  I am,” he says.

“Okay.  First, with you and Brandon, can you pinpoint any warning signs that you were under stress?”

Nod.

“Okay.  You don’t need to share them if you’re not comfortable.  I just need to know that you recognize them.”

Nod again.

“Talk to me, Jesus.  Yes?”

“Yeah.”  (Sometimes he gets in the habit of nodding, and without even realizing it, he’ll be a million miles away in seconds.  Good thing Mom knows that.)

“So, I want to practice something with you, when you’re ready.” Mom says.  Jesus wonders if her calves are in agony from popping a squat for that long.

“Practice what?” He can’t keep the wariness out of his voice.  (Not when He talked about so many obscene things using common language.)

“Calling for backup.”

Jesus breathes a sigh of relief.  “Like police?”

“Kind of,” she smiles.

She talks him through it.  How cops never go in a dangerous situation without backup.  Same goes if a regular situation turns dangerous.  She talks about how it will serve a dual purpose: it will alert Moms that he needs them, but it will also send a message to whoever he’s having a hard time with.  Literally: “Back up.”

They spend a ton of time on this.  She has him practice saying it, regular volume.  Then calling it out.  They even do a mock trigger.  They find Mariana in the girls’ room and ask if she has bracelets that don’t jangle. And can she pretend they do?  It’s so ridiculous, he can call for Moms, no problem.

Mom brings him back to the couch.  He gets focused again.  And Mom’s serious.  “Mama’s been talking to B out back.  We need to speak to both of you about what happened.  Can you keep it together while we do that?”

“If I can’t, can I call backup?” he asks, wondering when exactly this new thing will be put to the test.

“I would prefer that to a brawl, yes,” Mom nods, and then sends Mama a text.  They come in the back door and sit across the room.  Mom stands.  Doesn’t miss the way Jesus pats the empty space next to him on the couch.

She sits.

Jesus can see by Brandon’s bright eyes that he and Mama have been having some real talk.  She always manages to get to the heart of something - to get people to open up - even if they’re a vault like Brandon.

“This is very serious.  We do not condone violence in this house.  It’s part of what keeps us all safe.  So I need you,” Mom turns to Brandon, “to stop antagonizing your brother.”  

“I didn’t even say anything and he jumped on me!” Brandon denies.

Jesus is on his feet, eyes flashing.  Mom is, too, at his side, like an angel on his shoulder.

“Backup,” she cues.

“Back.  Up.” Jesus insists, over-enunciating each word.

“I’m right here.  Can you sit back down?  Breathe?” Mom reassures, while Mama appeals to Brandon.

“You want to rethink that and try again?” she asks softly.

“I was just kidding around.  Nobody gets my humor…” he pouts.

“Do either of you want to tell us what was said?” Mama asks.  “To precipitate this?”

Jesus looks Brandon in the eye.  He doesn’t care to rehash it.  Their fists did the talking.  Jesus wouldn’t recommend it, obviously, but sometimes a good ass-kicking clears the air.  Jesus shakes his head.  So does Brandon.

“So, Jesus, I need your word  No more physical violence, yes?”

“No.  Yeah, I promise.”

“And B?” Mom turns to him.  “Whatever you said?  Never again.”

Brandon nods.  It’s the first time Jesus can remember that Brandon’s been put in his place by Moms about anything.

That night, after dinner, Jesus is on his laptop, trying to think about what to say to Ethan.  So far, he has:

_Ethan-_

Not a great start.

“What was that about earlier?” Mariana asks.  “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he manages and then kicks himself mentally.  Why, every time that she brings herself to talk to him, does he shut her down?

He wants to say “Sorry, come back,” but no words come.

Jesus is up late, just staring at his laptop screen. Trying to figure out how to fix everything.  Brandon walks through at 11:00, ice cream drumstick in his hand.

He couldn’t do it with Mariana, but maybe, with their fight clearing the air like it had, Jesus can talk to Brandon.  He still hates what Brandon said, but looking at his busted lip helps a lot.  (It’s everything Jesus wished he could do to Him.)

Jesus doesn’t talk about losing his mind and pounding Brandon’s face in.  Instead, he asks about one of the things he said, mid-fight, that Jesus can’t figure out:

“What’d you give up for me?” Jesus asks, when Brandon’s almost to the stairs.

For a beat, Jesus thinks Brandon will just ignore him and go upstairs, but he backtracks to the open doorway.  Nods to the piano with its lid closed.  Every week Jesus dusts the thing, but he’s right, since Jesus has been home, Brandon hasn’t played.

“Dude.  Seriously?”

“Yeah.  But you know, whatever…” Brandon shrugs.

“I don’t get it.  Look, I’ll be the first to admit it: I can’t stand you most of the time…but I seriously dig your piano stuff.”

Brandon’s eyebrows raise.  His mouth drops open.  He closes it.  “Are you messing with me?”

“Dude.  No.  I listen to that song you put on YouTube as a little shit every day.”  (In the shower.  But Jesus doesn’t add that.)  “It’s the only thing I can listen to that doesn’t give me hella flashbacks….because He had absolutely no musical talent.”

Silence.

Jesus tries again.  (Honor each other’s feelings.)  “The world isn’t better without your talent, bro.  It’s worse.”

Brandon stands there, licking his ice cream.

Then:

“I don’t think you’re a dog.”

Jesus blinks.  Okay then.

“Night,” Brandon says, and disappears upstairs.


	36. Chapter 36

_**THEN** _

_**Wednesday, February 6, 2008** _

_**Missing: 4 months and 30 days** _

_Josh was pretty sure he was the only kid in his class who had_ two _first days of fourth grade.  It felt weird starting at a new school at the end of November.  (It felt like he had been Gone for years.)  All the other kids knew each other, and the rules.  Josh knew nobody.  And nobody knew him._

_His teacher, Mrs. Lutz, did not like him because Josh had a hard time paying attention.  The first day, it was okay, but after that, she lost her patience and made him stand in the corner.  The boys in the back of the class noticed.  They didn’t like the teacher, either.  Josh made friends._

_That winter, Josh got hurt in gym.  Another kid smacked him in the chin with his plastic floor hockey stick.  He kept playing until the girls in class screamed.  Josh froze.  There was blood on the floor.  On his shirt._

_At the nurse’s office, she gave him ice and paper towels and she made him change his shirt.  He went into the bathroom for privacy.  Came out in a shirt way too big.  It had short sleeves.  It showed his skinny arms.  The marks on his wrists._

_“What happened here?” she asked, concerned._

_His heart pounded._

_Josh took a deep breath.  He had to make her believe:_

_“Um…well…I just got adopted, and my family before this…they weren’t very nice to me,” Josh muttered, looking at his hands._

_His voice got thick.  His eyes stung.  (Could hear Him in his head: “Tears.  Nice touch.”)  But he was really crying about the Fosters.  Because they were the family that never hurt him, not the one that did.  This was just what he used to say when kids asked why he lived with Stef and Lena.  And where were his real parents._

_It was true but it wasn’t true.  And the lie made him feel like a horrible person._

_“Oh.  I’m so sorry to hear that.  Nobody’s hurting you now, are they?”_

_Josh looked around.  Shook his head.  No one was hurting him right now.  He shut his tears off._

_“No.”_

_“Do you need to go home?  I can call your parents.”_

_(Yes.)_

_Josh could see it in her eyes.  How bad she felt for him.  How much she wanted to help him feel safe by getting him back to someone who loved him.  Josh wanted that, too, more than anything.  But His words echoed in Josh’s head - the same ones every morning - before he got out of the car:_

_(“If you say anything, and I get a call about it?  Guaranteed, I’ll talk myself out of it.  Then?  You’re back home with me.  No time flat.  No one will believe you.”)_

_So, instead, he breathed deep.  “No.  I’m okay.  I don’t want to miss recess.”  His chin had stopped bleeding, so she let him go.  Halfway to the door, he turned to look at her:_

_“Thank you for helping me,” he said, and closed the door behind himself._

_**Monday, January 5, 2009** _

_**Missing: 1 year, 3 months and 29 days** _

_When Josh came back to school the day after winter break ended in fifth grade, his eyes watered all the time.  It was annoying because everybody thought he was crying.  Really, his eyes had to readjust after another week in the pitch-black basement.  His eyes still were sensitive to light._

_There was a word for it.  Photo-something.  (He made Josh practice it a million times, but he still forgot.  It kept getting mixed up with failure to thrive - the excuse He gave for Josh’s puny weight.)_

_Josh counted down the hours to lunch, resting his head on his desk.  Tiredness could do a lot of stuff, but Josh didn’t know it could make you feel sick, like throwing up, or sick in the head.  He missed having a bedtime.  A room that was just his.  He missed not having to pretend all the damn time._

_“Looks like somebody still thinks it’s winter break…” Mrs. Smith said, teasing gently.  She put a hand on Josh’s shoulder and he reluctantly sat up.  Tried to wipe his eyes so he didn’t look like a total baby._

_Mrs. Smith got down next to him, speaking quietly.  “Is something wrong?” she asked._

_Josh’s brain stalled.  What_ wasn’t _wrong?  Even though he got to sleep in his own bed every night since Christmas, he still felt tired from the week Down There with no sleep and not enough food and water.  Even though he had food and water now, he was always worried about it.  And that meant he couldn’t focus in school._

_“I have Failure.  And Photosynthesis,” Josh said softly, but kids still heard and snickered._

_“Hey!  Josh’s a plant!” they cackled._

_(“It’s photo_ phobia _, dumbass…” His voice said in Josh’s head.)_

_Mrs. Smith shushed the kids and turned again to Josh.  She was so nice.  She reminded Josh of Mama.  (So did the school nurse and everybody nice that was a teacher.  The cop at their school did_ not _remind him of Mom, though.  He was too mean.)_

_“The light hurts my eyes,” he said.  “Can I have sunglasses?”_

_“Nope.  Sorry.  No sunglasses in school.  But we can turn off the lights in a bit when we watch our movie for Social Studies.  Deal?”_

_“Okay,” he managed._

_“You sure you’re okay?  You weren’t hibernating in a cave, over break, were you?”  Her eyes sparkled with the joke, but Josh could also see she cared._

_“I actually didn’t get that much sleep…” he admitted.  Being so tired made him dumber.  It made him say more than he was supposed to.  Josh pressed his lips together._

_“Too much fun?” she guessed.  She didn’t wait for an answer, just patted his arm and said:  “Get some sleep tonight, okay?”_

_“Yeah,” Josh nodded._

_But he knew sleep was never guaranteed.  If it came, or when it came, that stuff was never up to Josh.  It was up to Him.  Josh’s job was to do whatever He said, whenever He said, otherwise He might not need Josh anymore._

_Otherwise, He might get Mariana instead._

_**Missing: 2 years and 1 day** _

Journal Entry #2 Tuesday September 8, 2009

My name is Josh Mitchell.  I live with my dad.  I dont have brothers or sisters.  Its just me and him. I am in 6th grade and I can’t belive it.  It is hard in middle school.  There are to many classes and not much time to get to them.  I like jim class, but some times i am soar from growing pains and i have to sit out.  My favorite thing is sports and video games.  

Josh

_**Missing: 2 years and 5 days** _

Journal Entry #7 Saturday September 12, 2009 DONT READ

I hate this.  I really really really really really really really hate it.  I wish stuff was so different.  I wish Dad respected me more.  I wish I had a mom some times.  I think it would be nicer to have a mom.  The weekends are the hardest.  Beacuse he is always home and bugging me to do stuff and I dont want to I just want to be alone and watch TV.  He doesnt care about me one bit.  I think if I ever get to grow up and be a dad i will be different.  I will respect my son and not be mean to him.

Josh

_**Missing: 2 years, 3 months and 16 days** _

What am I Haiku #4 Wednesday December 23, 2009 DON’T READ

Deep inside the dark

I wait for someone to come

But they can’t save me.

_**Missing: 2 years, 3 months and 30 days** _

Journal entry #1 Wednesday January 6, 2010

Dads family came to visit at the break.  It was nice to see everyone.  I got presents like video games and a bike and clothes.  I ate tons of food and got so stuffed I almost got sick.  It was the best.  My cousin is still here.  It’s K.A. to have someone to hang out with other then Dad.  (No offence Dad.)  - Josh

_**Missing 2 years, 5 months and 26 days** _

Journal entry #1 Friday March 5, 2010

Today’s my birthday.  I’m 12.  I want to stay home but Dad says we should celebrate.  Said “How about a movie?”  So, we’re going but I feel super bad.  First, the only thing playing is Alice in Wonderland.  Boring.  (And CREEPY, am I right?)  Mostly I feel bad that my cousin can’t come with us.  It is such a bummer going to a movie I don’t want to see, without even my cousin there to mock it.  Oh well.  I’ll have to remember the dumb parts extra so I can tell him later. - Josh

_**Missing: 2 years, 8 months and 10 days** _

Journal entry #3 Monday May 17, 2010

Gotta give a happy birthday shoutout to my bestie, as the girls say.  Hope I can see you soon. - Josh

_**Missing: 2 years and 9 months** _

Journal entry Monday June 7, 2010

I can’t believe 6th grade is over tommorrow.  I use to think rating in a notebook was dumb but its not that bad to keep a journal.  I mite keep it going this summer to see how long I can make it.  Thanks for the idea Mrs. A.  I won’t miss being a baby 6th grader but I will miss you. Bye.  Josh

 


	37. Chapter 37

_**Tuesday, April 12, 2011** _

_**Missing: 3 years, 7 months and 5 days** _

_Seventh grade had been the actual worst.  Josh was almost failing everything, except for art and gym where he had steady As.  The only reason he wasn’t actually failing was because Dad would kill him.  No joke.  So he was barely passing the academic stuff, but whatever.  If this was gonna be his life, what would he need an education for?_

_In study hall, he borrowed Alexa Chen’s phone.  She reminded him of Mariana, even though, in Josh’s mind, she never aged, and was still nine.  Alexa was nice and smart and sharp.  Josh admired her.  Pretty much everybody thought they should have a thing, but Josh wasn’t interested._

_He ignored the taunts that he must be gay.  (They were “sure” it must be true because of the not dating thing and his long hair - as if that meant anything - except that he was being forced to never cut his hair, and messed with so he never wanted to get close to anybody…)_

_Josh signed into his Facebook.  (He turned 13 last month, and basically promised Dad to be His slave forever if He kept His word and let Josh get a Facebook like the rest of the world.)  At home, He monitored Josh online like the CIA or some crap, but He couldn’t control whose phone he borrowed at school._

_At Dad’s insistence, Josh had zero Facebook friends and his profile pic was of one of his shoes.  But without Dad literally looking over his shoulder, Josh could actually search for people instead of playing Cookie Land for 20 minutes a day._

_Josh typed in Stefanie Foster San Diego and found zip.  Lena Adams Anchor Beach Charter School?  The same nothing.  (Seriously what was up with them that they weren’t on social media?)  Josh glanced at the clock.  Still time for one more search:_

_Brandon Foster San Diego Anchor Beach._

_Holy shit.  There he was.  His profile pic shows him with some girl Josh didn’t know.  He scrolled down the page, shocked.  Brandon’s page had zero privacy settings - everything was set to public.  There were a billion selfies of Brandon making the same face, and 12 billion pics of him and the girl. Josh’s heart sank.  No pics of Moms.  None of Mari.  But then Josh saw the status update:_

**Brandon Foster**

at 10:55am

Moms bday in 2 days hmu w ideas.  Srsly.  Desperate to stay off the shit list _._

_Josh swallowed.  He’d forgotten it was almost Mom’s birthday.  Did that make him horrible?  Or realistic?  (Why think about the birthday of a person you’re never gonna see again?)  Still, Josh always thought of Mariana on hers.  What kind of son did that make him?_

_Glancing at the clock, Josh saw he was down to five minutes left of study hall.  So, he didn’t let himself think, just typed:_

Cant go wrong w a pic of you and any sibs.  Take a new one or frame an old one.

_The response came in seconds:_

Ok idek who you are and idc. You just saved my ass Josh Mitchell.  Genius.

_Not really, he thought.  This many years away, and he ached for a picture of his family._

_He could only imagine Stef might want the same._

_**Friday, October 7, 2011** _

_**Missing: 4 years and 1 month** _

_If nobody noticed how Josh came into elementary school half-dead those couple of times…if nobody noticed the happy kid act in 6th grade was a mask…if nobody noticed his silent slide into depression last year….then why the hell should he be surprised now?_

_At least once a quarter some idiot pulled the fire alarm at school - either that or they were required to be sure the kids get the shit scared out of them regularly - it sure worked on Josh.)  Every time, all of them had to go stand outside and wait for LAPD to show up, and say they were safe from the imaginary fire._

_Every time, Josh made sure to stand at the front of the crowds of kids (so they could see his short ass) pulling back his Biblically long hair with a rubber band so his face was in plain view.  It was everything he dared to do without actually screaming his other name out….which was only okay, he knew, if he had a death wish._

_(With the new kid around, Josh knew He wouldn’t need much reason to just off him and be done with it.  Josh couldn’t take the risk.)_

_Josh stood as close to the closest cop car as he could, willing the cops to make eye contact.  He didn’t trust cops as far as he could throw them, but as an alternative to certain death?  Josh knew he had to try._

_So he walked out in front of a car preparing to move.  The officer honked and yelled at him to get out of the street._

_For the rest of the day, Josh’s nerves were destroyed and he had a massive headache.  He didn’t do anything in class._

_Let him fail._

_Let him fail every damn thing._

_Who would care anyway?_

_Level 1 was there like an old friend, and Josh stayed blank until the end of the day.  No one noticed.  Why would they?_

_Brandon’s voice tried to butt into his distant haze on Josh’s walk back to His house:  “Seriously?  If you fail on purpose, Moms are going to kill you.”_

_Josh saw the house - nothing special on the outside - and shivered: “Not if He kills me first,” he said out loud to no one._

_**Friday, January 6, 2012** _

_**Home: 2 months and 23 days** _

_Walking back into Anchor Beach four years later, as an eighth grader, Jesus felt like a time machine had dropped him off.  All his friends were huge.  Mariana was way taller than him so they looked weird walking down the hall together.  Twins, but not really twins.  It bummed Jesus out._

_At least the press had died down and no news people cared he was here._

_“Jesus!  Where you been?” a senior asked.  He looked friendly enough but was the size of a California Redwood. Then he said, “Totally thought you died.  You’re back, though. Awesome.”_

_“Shut up, Sam!” Mariana said, like Sam couldn’t snap her like a twig._

_“What?” Sam said.  “It’s a good thing.  I mean I’m glad to see him!”_

_Jesus couldn’t move.  His heart was about to hammer through his chest and he really felt like puking._

_“Jesus?  It’s okay.  He’s gone,” Mariana reassured._

_Blinking, he focused in, and saw they were the only ones left in the hall.  He must’ve zoned out for longer than he thought._

_“Mama put you in a lot of my classes, remember?  And if we’re not together, and you need me?  Text me.”_

_“Yeah…” Jesus answered.  But Sam’s words were still in his head._

_Classes passed in a blur and Jesus couldn’t concentrate on anything.  But when anybody asked about Then, it was like Jesus_ had _to listen:_

_“So, was it awful?” Lexi asked, sidling up to him in the hall like no time had passed since he was chasing her and Mariana on the playground.  (Lexi’s family had just gotten back from spending winter break in Honduras.  She hadn’t seen him yet, but Mariana must’ve given her a heads-up.)_

_Jesus shrugged.  Dr. Hitchens said he could always say he wasn’t comfortable answering, but that would just give them more to gossip about._

_“Yeah,” he said._

_“Oh, I’m so sorry…” she said, wrapping her arms around him.  She was taller, like Mariana, so her arm came around his neck and squeezed.  It felt like he was choking._

_He couldn’t feel his body._

_Lexi didn’t let go right away.  And Jesus stood there, his arms at his sides.  When she pulled back, Jesus wasn’t listening._

_He only came back when he smelled Mariana’s perfume - something light and flowery - she was looking concerned - offering her sweatshirt.  He stared, not understanding._

_“Put this around your waist, okay.  So it covers you.”  (Why did she look so worried?)_

_But then Jesus glanced down, and saw.  It was just like That Day.  When he was so scared in that duffel bag that he couldn’t hold it._

_His ears burned._

_“It’s okay.  I don’t think anyone saw.  Come with me.  We’ll find Mama.”_

_“I’ll just go to the nurse?” he asked, because he did not want to show up looking like a damn toddler at Mama’s office._

_Mariana hesitated.  “Can I text her at least?”_

_Jesus didn’t even know she was asking him until she said it again._

_He thought of Then.  Of his fear.  Of being humiliated.  And then he heard Mama in his head from last month:_

I don’t make fun of people.  That’s not kind.

_“Yeah,” Jesus nodded._

_Mama took him home. Let him change.  Asked if he was okay.  What he needed._

_“Can we just sit on the couch?” he asked._

_“Sure.”_

_So, they sat._

_Jesus inched closer and closer until he was right next to her.  He laid his head on her shoulder.  “I’m not sure I can do school.  I might be too dumb.”_

_Mama paused and thought.  “If you can’t go to Anchor Beach, we can figure something out. You’re not dumb, my love, you’re stressed.  It makes sense.”_

_“Does it?” he asked._

_“It does.  Let’s call Dr. Hitchens.  See if she’s got an earlier opening today.  What do you think?”_

_Jesus bristled.  “I don’t want to…”_

_Mama only spoke after another long pause.  “How about we keep your 3:30 then?  That way nothing has to change.”_

_“I guess,” he muttered.  Even if Mama didn’t talk about it directly, it was still so embarrassing.  “Can I tell you something?  Maybe it’ll make you mad…”_

_“You can tell me anything.” Mama reassures._

_“I really hate school.”_

_“I understand.” Mama said.  “And I’m not mad.  In fact, can I tell_ you  _something?” she echoed._

_Jesus nodded._

_“Sometimes I really hate school, too.  It reminds me of losing you.  And I hate that feeling.”_

_Carefully, Jesus put his arms around her, and laid his head back down on her shoulder.  “I’m right here.  I can’t be lost if I’m right here.”_

_“I love you, Jesus.”_

_He stiffened, but relaxed again.  “Yeah,” he whispered.  “I think I know that.”_


	38. Chapter 38

**NOW**

**Tuesday, November 18, 2014**

**Home:  3 years, 1 month and 4 days**

Now that the air is cleared between Jesus and Brandon, Jesus can actually focus on his plan to meet Ethan.  It actually came to him Saturday night after he and Brandon talked.  Jesus was just chilling in his room and it hit him:

He could totally get Callie on board to take him to therapy one day (and Mariana could come too, if she wanted.)  Then, instead of going to therapy, he could tell them what he really planned: meeting Ethan at a local park.  And that he needed them as backup.

Truth, though?  That plan made Jesus feel totally gross, and more like Josh than he ever wanted to be.  He came clean in therapy with Dr. H. and they worked through why he felt like he had to manipulate his sisters into doing what he wanted, instead of just asking them.

(“Fear,” he’d admitted.)

Dr. H. helped him recognize that this was not Then.  That he was okay.  That even though this knee-jerk reaction made sense, given his history - the years spent trying to engineer his own rescue in a way that didn’t draw attention - that Jesus Foster was free to make a different choice.

Taking the time like they were, let Jesus put a finer point on exactly why he felt gross about his plan.  And then, he saw Frankie’s face in his mind’s eye, and it clicked.  “I hate having stuff sprung on me without my consent.  That’s not okay.  Just because I had it done to me doesn’t give me an excuse to do it back.  Fear’s not even rational, so I need to think about doing something different.”

The cornerstone of why Jesus has been able to do so well and recover as much as he has is because he’s been able to be clear and honest about what he needs.  He and Dr. H. had worked it through together, until he had a plan that made him feel okay.

“What do you want to do differently?  Can you be specific?” Dr. H. had asked.

“I want to ask my sisters to come with me when I talk to Ethan…and I want them to say yes…”

“Okay.  Which part of that is realistically in your control?”

“Asking them…’cause they have the right to say no, just like I do…” Jesus had admitted.

“That’s accurate,” Dr. H. nodded.  “So, let’s focus on what you can control.  How would you like to ask your sisters for what you need?  Ideally?”

Yesterday, he’d dropped another note in Mariana’s mailbox:

_Meet me on the porch tomorrow night 7:00?  Ask Callie if she’ll come, too?_  

The worst part is that Jesus can’t touch base with Ethan about a solid plan unless and until Callie says yes.  Callie’s his number one for this mission because she has no ties to his abduction, while Mariana was regularly used as a bargaining chip to keep him in line.  Callie’s a little older, level-headed, and has a fantastic gut instinct about people and situations. Jesus needs that, especially since his own reactions and instincts are based in fear and trauma.  He needs her rationality.  

He needs Mariana as moral support, but she isn’t as vital as Callie.  Jesus and Mariana are still on shaky ground when it comes to him being able to reciprocate and be there for her.  He wants to be able to, but he’s just not there yet.  It’s not fair for him to constantly need her and to not be able to be there back when she needs him, but it is what it is.  This is no fireworks situation.  She always has the choice to show or not.  Jesus tries not to overthink it.

He’s already told Moms he’s planning to talk to Mariana and Callie on the porch tonight.  He has to run it by them so they don’t randomly show up and start asking questions.  Jesus is still not comfortable with Moms knowing.

It’s dark by 7:00 and Jesus knows he has a half hour for sure where Moms will be occupied with chores and putting Frankie to bed.  Maybe more, but he doesn’t want them lingering at the window while Mom tries to read his body language for signs of stress.

At three minutes after, the door opens.  Right about now, Jesus is feeling lucky that neither Callie nor Mari had other plans tonight.  

The porch light is on, so it’s not creepy.  Jesus has his yellow fleece for warmth as much as security.  Mariana and Callie bring out cups of coffee and Jesus raises his eyebrows.  He and coffee aren’t exactly buds.  Caffeine wreaks havoc with his anxiety.

That’s when he notices Mari has two cups  She offers him one and he sniffs it.  Hot apple cider.

“Okay, you’re my favorite,” he smiles.

“Seriously?  When am I  _not_  your favorite?” she chides.  

(Though Mari hasn’t written back yet, Jesus suspects his daily notes updating her on a funny thing Mama or Frankie said, and just asking how she’s doing, have meant something to her.  Maybe she’s starting to get that in order for them to really get deep, they have to have a bit of distance.  Maybe Jesus is getting that, too.)

He nods for them to sit, and they do, on either side of him but not too close, like Moms do.

“So…to what do we owe the honor?” Callie asks.

“Honor,” he scoffs lightly, laughing.  He is so beyond nervous.

“Porch time,” Callie clarifies.  “So far it’s only ever been Moms who you want out here with you.”

“Oh!  Is it a surprise?  For, like, Christmas?  Are we doing a secret family gift for Moms?” Mariana asks.

Jesus reaches for her coffee.  “…And, you’re cut off…” he jokes.

Mariana scowls, guarding her cup.

“No, it’s not a surprise.  I need you guys for something.”  Jesus makes himself stop and take a breath.  Rephrase.  “I mean, I need to  _ask_  you guys something.”

They’re both quiet, listening.

“I need a ride to meet somebody,” he hedges.

“Somebody, like, your therapist, or somebody like…the boogeyman….” Mariana asks.

“Ethan,” Jesus says, busying himself taking a drink of cider.

“Who’s that?  A friend of yours?” Callie, asking the tough questions like he knows she will.

“Not exactly.  He’s a kid I was with.  Before.  I don’t want Moms to know.”

Mariana is silent.  Jesus can’t read her face.

Callie again:  “Is he safe to be around?  I mean, of course we wanna help, Jesus, but all these sketchy details aren’t exactly inspiring confidence.”

“Dr. Hitchens knows,” he placates.  “She’s on board with me asking you guys.  With us meeting somewhere neutral.  Public.  I know better than to show up there by myself.  That’s why I asked you guys.  He won’t talk to me if I show up there with Moms.”

“How long have you guys been talking?” Mariana asks.

“He wrote me in September, but I didn’t find it til last month.” Jesus admits.

“What’s he want?” It’s protective.  Mariana’s eyes are flashing.

“He wants to know why I didn’t save him…” Jesus says.

“You were just a kid,” Callie interjects.  “That wasn’t up to you.”

“Still, I feel like I owe him an explanation.  Plus, he’s all alone with this.  I mean, it sucks, but I have all of you.  He keeps saying no one gets what it’s like.  And he’s right.  We’re literally the only two people who know how it was There.  I wanna sit down with him.  So he knows he’s not by himself.  So, I’m asking…  Will you guys come with me?”

“When and where?” Mariana asks.

“Hold on,” Callie interjects.  “I get that you wanna do this Jesus, and that Mariana, you wanna help.  But we have to have a plan, too.  I think all of us should have our phones, turned on and turned up.  I think Mariana and I should sit nearby.  Not, like, close enough to overhear, but for you to see us.  For us to get there quickly if you’d need us.  Agreed, so far?  And Jesus this is not me taking your power away, okay?  This is me protecting you.”

“I get it,” he nods.  “Yeah.  Sounds good.”

“And what about a time limit?” Mariana suggests.  “You don’t wanna be stuck there with him for three hours or something, while he tells you how sad he is, right?”

“Right,” Jesus nods.  “Any ideas?”

“Twenty minutes?” Mariana asks.  “Keep it really short just in case it turns out to be really intense.  And you can always text me if you need to call it early.  In either case, Callie and I could come over, keep it really casual?”

“Yeah.  Awesome.  Thank you.  Do I have your word, though?  No Moms?”

Callie purses her lips.  “If it goes okay, and you’re not in major distress after, no Moms.  But if you need them after, I think it’s important they know why you need them.  What do you think?”

Jesus sighs.  “This is still protection?” he asks.

“Still protection,” Callie confirms.

“Then, yeah…I guess…  You can tell them if they need to know.”

“So…”  Mariana prompts.  “When and where?”


	39. Chapter 39

**NOW**

**Wednesday, November 19, 2014**

**Home: 3 years, 1 month and 5 days**

The next afternoon, Jesus, Callie and Mariana wait until Mama takes Frankie grocery shopping before they leave.  Jude and Brandon aren’t home, so there is no one to tell. They file outside and stand by Lucile, the car the girls bought without even asking Moms.  Somehow, it runs.  Somehow, they aren’t grounded forever.  (Probably because their family really did need another car.)

They hesitate in the driveway, all standing there awkwardly.  This is usually Moms’ territory: dealing with Jesus and his massive car trigger.  He’s hoping, though, that not being deathly ill will help in the same way it’s helped his frame of mind.  Still, they probably should have talked this through first.

“So, where’s ideal for you?” Callie asks, wasting no time.

Jesus swallows, aware that he’s standing directly between the passenger and back doors - somehow managing to block both at once.

Mariana clears her throat.  Steps into Jesus’s eyeline.  “Porch conference?” she asks.

“We gotta go, though.  I already emailed.  Told him I was coming.  That we’d be there at 3:30.”

“There’s no rush,” Callie says, like they have all the time in the world.  “Where’s he gonna go if you’re late?  He wants to talk to you.  I doubt he’ll leave.”

Nodding, Jesus walks to the porch and sits.  He’s a little short of breath already.  (That usually happens if he ever tries to be spontaneous (a.k.a.  _not_  planning every little thing.)  Taking some time helps.  The girls honestly not being in a rush helps.

“I need to sit in the back, and I probably need you in back with me,” he says, looking at Mariana.  “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she nods.  “If it’s okay with you.”

He nods.  “And I need you,” Jesus turns to Callie “to be super obvious about what you’re doing.  Narrate, basically.  And don’t reach over the seat, if you can help it.”

Normally, he wouldn’t need to be this specific, but he doubts he has ever been in a car without Mom, or Mama, or both, since he’s been back.  This is gonna take a lot of trust.

“Got it,” Callie nods.  “So, we’re just going to that park, like, five miles from here.  With all the picnic tables and trees.”  She’s getting a head start on this narrating thing.  He digs it.  Offers a smile.

They get in the car with no catastrophe.  Callie, it turns out, is freaking hilarious, and narrates the whole trip as an old British woman, who is going to the park to look for her her lost pet badger.  

It gets Jesus’s guard down so much that he finds himself asking questions, and getting really into it:

“Can’t badgers, like, kill you?  Aren’t they like wolverine-level creepy?” Jesus asks, laughing.

“Oh, not Alfie.  He’s my baby….” Callie intones.

“Callie, seriously, what kind of name is Alfie?” he asks.

“Oh, no, no, my dear!  My name isn’t Callie!  It’s Mrs. Georgina Feathersby Longbottom.”

Mariana has tears rolling down her cheeks from laughing so hard.

“Child, could you keep down all that noise?” Callie snaps, in full British accent, hiding a smile.  “We’re just pulling into Alfie’s favorite park….”

When she turns off the car, though, Callie is back, and all-business.  “You okay?” she asks, checking on him via the rearview mirror.

“Yeah…” Jesus is trying to get his breath.  (How did he go this long not knowing Callie was hilarious?)

They spot Ethan.  He’s the only kid at this park, because it’s literally just benches and picnic tables.  No skating or playground equipment to attract kids.

“Holy shit.  He’s right there…”

“We can go back home if you want,” Callie offers.  “No pressure.  Mrs. Longbottom’s glad to chauffer you.”

Jesus cracks a smile.  “No, I got this.  And, hey, in case I forget to say it later?  Thank you guys both for this.  Means a lot to know I can count on you.”

“Of course,” Callie nods.  “We’re family.”

“So I’ll set a timer on my phone for twenty minutes when you sit down, okay?” Mariana asks.  “Oh, and do you want us to walk you up, or linger casually in the car before we sit on the bench under that tree.”

He nods.  “Timer sounds good.  And, I’m a big fan of you guys lingering casually, if that’s cool.”

“Yeah.” Callie nods. “So, we’ll be here in the car, or over there if you need us before twenty minutes is up.”

“Sounds good,” he says again, taking a deep breath.  “Okay.  I’m going in.  Wish me luck.”

Jesus gets out of the car before he can hear their answer.  He forces himself to walk at a normal pace.  No jogging.  No running.  (And definitely no high-tailing it in the other direction.  He can do this.)

“You can do this…” he mutters.

Jesus slides onto the empty side of the picnic table, looking into the pimply face of now-fifteen-year-old Ethan.  He hadn’t been this big three years ago.  Only twelve or something, and Jesus never actually saw him until After, on the news, at the hospital.

“Hey,” Jesus says.

“Hey.” Ethan returns.

“You got glasses,” Jesus observes, and feels ridiculous.

“Cut your hair,” Ethan returns.

“Yeah.”

Silence.  Then, Ethan breaks it with an honesty-bomb:

“Why didn’t you save me?”

“I told the police, Ethan…as soon as I could, I swear.”

“You were gone, for like,  _hours_ , while I was trapped down in that damn basement.  He could’ve come back at any time!  Gotten pissed and just killed me!  Did you even care?  You got all that freedom to walk around and do whatever the hell you wanted.  Why should you care about me?”

“Not at first,” Jesus interjects softly.

“What?” Ethan snaps, furious.

“At first, I was Down There just like you.”

Ethan sneers.  “You’re full of shit.”

“Pitch-black, no windows, chained to a pole?” Jesus rattles off.

“Any idiot can watch the news and all the special reports and pick that up,” Ethan insists, unconvinced.

“Yeah?” Jesus challenges, extending his arms and pushing up his sleeves, showing the scars on his wrists.  “Watching the news can’t do this.  You think you had it so tough being Down There for ten days?” Jesus is standing, leaning across the table.  Ethan’s up, too.  “I was in that hellhole for over  _two months_.  And for a week when his mom died with hardly any food or water!  And for weekends here and there as punishment, or just because he fucking  _felt like it_!”

“Jesus, there you are!” Mariana says, like she hasn’t been in his eyeline behind Ethan this whole time.  

“We’ve been looking for you,” Callie says, breathless.

It takes him a minute, but he steps back.  Gets his bearings.  (It hasn’t been twenty minutes.  They’re saving him.)

“Who are they?” Ethan asks so disrespectfully Jesus wants to smack him.

“My sisters,” Jesus growls.  

“Nice…” Ethan gives them a once-over that makes Jesus rage inside.  He doesn’t know if Ethan’s always been this horrible to girls or if being There did it.  In any case, he can see the hurt that flashes in Mari and Callie’s eyes at being judged as objects, not as people.

“Do me a favor and lose my email address…and our home address…  We’re done.” Jesus says, walking away, flanked by Mariana and Callie.

“What if I don’t?” Ethan calls at their backs.

“Try it,” Callie dares.  “Our Mom’s a cop.  She’ll lock you up in juvie for messing with one of us.”

Jesus doesn’t turn around.  Just goes straight to the car, gets in and locks the door.  Callie has to unlock it to let Mariana in.

“You okay?” Mari asks.

“He’s an ass…” Jesus insists.  “How did I not see it?”

“Probably ‘cause you barely knew each other,” Mariana points out gently.   “Just because He had both of you at once doesn’t mean you’d get along.”

Jesus nods.  He’d pointed out the same thing to Ethan via email not that long ago.  That He’d tried to make them hate each other.

Well, it worked.

“If it’s any consolation,” Callie says, looking in the rearview mirror.  “Ethan?  Looked like he was about ready to pee himself at the idea of Mom arresting him and going to juvie.”

“It wouldn’t be as bad as There,” Jesus says, certain.  “Hey…” he hedges.  “Ma’am?  Did you find your badger?”  He hopes Callie will take the hint.  He just needs to move forward.  Ethan’s no threat.  Just a waste of his time.

“No, dear,” Callie intones.  “I was quite busy taking care of someone else much more important.”

Mariana smiles.

“Who?” Jesus asks (because damn it, he needs to hear her say it.)

Her eyes flicker to his in the rearview mirror.

“You, dear,” she says, and they pull out of the parking lot, headed for home.


	40. Chapter 40

_**THEN** _

_**Friday, December 25, 2009** _

_**Missing: 2 years, 3 months and 18 days** _

_Josh was seriously starting to hate winter breaks._

_Even though nothing was as awful as last year (chained in the basement for a week), this was still pretty bad.  He had left to go visit His mom’s grave, which meant He was totally crabby during Something Else and then just left Josh chained to the bed in his room.  There was a little slack (enough to go to the bathroom, or to His room - disgusting) but not enough to get to the kitchen or the front or back doors which were always locked with 17 billion locks._

_He left a lot more food this time.  Josh was relieved about that.  The water situation was solid.  There was heat.  Josh had clothes and blankets.  So he really should stop complaining.  It was just…he didn’t expect to be left alone with the blaring Christmas music again.  With nobody to talk to.  Not even the deer head._

_At least Josh had an alarm clock in his room and a skateboarding calendar to keep track of the days.  (Josh remembered when He started asking what Josh liked.  What other kids had.  The calendar was the first thing He’d given Josh to help him fit in.)_

_Instead of thinking of his family, Josh spent hours organizing his food:  How much was left?  How long could he make it last?  Should he have eaten the best things last instead of first?  Too late now._

_Ever since August, when He was super mad and kept putting Josh Down There for punishments, Josh had made it his mission to never have to go Down There again.  But when it came down to it,_ not  _going made him so nervous._

_Josh couldn’t even shut up about it and had to ask Him:_

_“So, I–  I don’t have to go Down There?”_

_He’d turned.  Eyed Josh, still chained to the bed.  “Have you done something to deserve it?”_

_“No.  I’m just asking, because…”_

_“Relax.  If you haven’t done anything wrong, you’re in the clear.  Consider it your Christmas gift.”_

_“Okay,” Josh hesitated.  He was staring in that gross way.  Like He deserved something back for chaining Josh in a different room.  Then, he remembered:  “Thank you, Dad,” he recited._

_So far, he was doing okay on food and water.  Josh had organized it a bunch.  Now what?  He sighed, looking at his backpack.  All the teachers in sixth grade assigned homework like theirs was the only class that existed.  So, Josh did Social Studies and Science.  Math and Reading.  Language, he saved for very last.  He wrote a haiku poem, because they were doing a whole unit on it in that class.  He put DON’T READ in all caps at the top because they were allowed if something was personal._

_Josh still knew better than to make anything seriously personal.  If he did that, he didn’t want to think about what would happen.  Bit his lip and rubbed his ankle where the chain was digging in.  When they went back to school, Josh knew Mrs. A. was going to have them write about how break was.  Josh could use the rest of the time (however long he was stuck here before He came back) to make up the best fake break ever.  Family coming over.  Lots of presents.  And food._

_Unfortunately, Fake Breaking didn’t take as long as he hoped.  So Josh just decided to catch up on his sleep.  He slept a lot but didn’t stay asleep because of the music and because his chains kept digging in.  Josh woke up a lot - he kept thinking he heard Him coming back in for more Something Else._

_Josh woke up for real when the music changed.  It was the I’m So Dumb song.  Goosebumps rose on his arms and when the music stopped for one or two seconds before repeating, Josh heard it:_

_A boy crying._

_He lurched to the bathroom, dragging his chains and fell on his knees to be sick._

_Josh was a terrible person.  Happy he wasn’t locked Down There, when it was really because He was taking another kid.  He needed The Pole and The Mattress and everything for the other kid.  Josh was crying out of control, and felt like he was dying._

_All this time - all these months - He had been talking about getting another kid, but Josh never thought He actually would._

_Pulling against the chains, Josh screamed.  There was no way to do what he really wanted and rescue the other boy.  Because Josh couldn’t even save himself._

_Finally, giving up, Josh lay down on the floor in the bathroom.  He went to Level 3 because the blood was already rushing in his ears._

_Josh never dreamed since being Here, but distantly, he had the thought: “Please let tonight be a dream.”_

_Then nothing._

_**Thursday, January 14, 2010** _

_**Missing: 2 years, 4 months and 7 days** _

_For almost three weeks, Josh kept waiting for the other boy to be allowed upstairs.  Tried to talk to Him about, but He was distracted.  His eyes shining in a weird way.  He’d be downstairs then upstairs.  When there was a noise He’d say it was mice._

_That made Josh shiver._

_Today, Josh came home to a note on the kitchen table.  It said He was working late and Josh better behave and leave the music on.  All the doors better be locked when He came home._

_Usually, Josh knew, He waited around to be sure He could lock Josh in, but He didn’t today.  Any other day, that would scream ESCAPE NOW, but his finger was still sore sometimes, and he was so scared of having to go Down There if he got caught.  The truth was, Josh was too scared to try to escape.  Plus, he knew there was another boy.  And this was Josh’s chance to see about helping him._

_There was no lock on the basement door, so Josh just waited until he knew for sure (mostly) that He wasn’t coming to check up on them.  Then he opened the basement door and started down the stairs, shaking._

_The smell was bad.  The laundry didn’t even cover it.  It was like an outhouse Josh used once, camping out, but worse.  Nervous now, he flipped on the light._

_There._

_Josh’s stomach dropped._

_The boy was skinny.  Pale.  Chains digging in.  A hood over his head.  No clothes.  Holding still like he was frozen.  (Oh yeah, the light.)_

_For a minute, Josh just stood there.  Then, he forced himself to move.  He got an old towel from the dirty clothes that looked so much cleaner than the boy.  Then, he knelt, and with shaking hands, he took the hood off the boy’s head._

_Grey eyes went wide with fear._

_“It’s okay,” Josh said, holding his hands up.  Looking the boy in the eyes.  “I’m like you.  Okay?  I’m like you.”  Pushing up his sleeves, his pant legs, his shirt, Josh showed the marks.  Proof he’d been right here once, too.  “My name is Josh.  I’m not gonna hurt you.  I’m not like Him.”_

_Josh put the towel over the boy, so it at least covered his lap and legs._

_“I’m gonna untape your mouth.  Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll try a different angle.”_

_The boy nodded.  He was so skinny.  There were tears on his face.  Josh could see where they made tracks through the dirt there._

_Josh winced, and went to work, carefully peeling away the tape.  The boy made little noises but his voice was gone, like hoarse._

_Finally, Josh got the tape off, and he stuck it to another part of the pole but not all the way.  He knew he was gonna need to put it back on eventually, and Josh wasn’t about to go looking for fresh duct tape._

_The boy started crying, but no tears came._

_“What’s your name?” Josh asked._

_“I–  Jacob…” he croaked._

_“How old are you?”_

_“Eleven,” he whispered._

_“Hey.  Me, too.  Oh, I almost forgot,” Josh reached into his sweatshirt pocket.  Took out a can of Sprite, a chocolate pudding and a plastic spoon.  (It paid to save your lunch.)_

_Jacob’s eyes got big.  His stomach growled._

_“I’m gonna help you with these, okay, but I just gotta check something quick.  I’m not leaving you, I promise.”  Josh ran up the stairs and and listened for a car engine.  Boots.  Keys.  The clock on the wall said 4:11.  Still almost seven hours ‘til He came home from work._

_Josh just had to be careful.  Because you never knew when He might come home spying._

_Back downstairs with Jacob and the horrible smells, Josh opened the can of Sprite and held it to Jacob’s lips.  “Be careful,” he urged.  If Jacob spilled on himself there was the towel to wipe up, but there would also be evidence on it.  They couldn’t risk that._

_Jacob chugged the whole Sprite not spilling one drop.  Josh opened the pudding and Jacob had it eaten in six bites.  Again, Josh headed upstairs to throw the garbage away in the kitchen, so He wouldn’t suspect.  Made sure to look around again.  Listen again.  No sign._

_Back downstairs._

_Josh sat across from Jacob and frowned.  The chains he could see looked so tight.  “Sorry,” he muttered.  “If I had the key, I’d unlock you, and then we could run away.  Get help.”_

_Jacob sobbed.  “I want my mom!”_

_“Hey.  I know.  It sucks.  This is gonna sound so bad, okay, but trust me:  You’ve gotta just forget her, okay?”_

_Jacob wailed louder._

_“Listen to me, okay?  I was right where you are.  I’m telling you this because it’ll help you stay alive: It’s easier to just forget.  It hurts too much to remember them.  If you try to find them, they’ll be in danger, too…  You gotta be strong, okay?  You can fight but don’t cry.  Do whatever He wants.  Disappear in your head, so you don’t think about it or feel it.”_

_“I don’t know how…” Jacob whimpered.  “I just wanna go home.  I want my family.”_

_“Well…” Josh thought.  “What if I was your family?  Just for now ‘til you get yours back?  Like brothers or cousins, or something…” (Josh didn’t tell Jacob, but he had already started referring to him as “my cousin” in his journal for school.)_

_Jacob cracked a tiny smile: “Bro-sins,” he offered._

_“Deal.  So in order to get out of here, you have to do all the stuff I said.  Then, you’ll be able to walk around like me, and then, maybe we can think of a way out of here.”_

_“I don’t know how to be strong, though…” Jacob hesitated._

_“Are you alive right now after twenty days Down Here?”_

_Jacob looked surprised.  (There was literally no way to tell days or hours.)  “Yeah,” his voice cracked._

_“Then you’re strong. I’m gonna go make supper.  I’ll bring you some, okay?”_

_“Don’t leave…”_

_“Listen.  I can’t visit you all the time but I swear I’ll sneak down whenever I can, okay?  When you’re by yourself and scared, remember that I’m here, too.  I’m in The House.  And in The House, we only have one job.”_

_“What?” Jacob asked._

_“Stay alive,” Josh said seriously.  “So we can be rescued.”_

_“Okay.  Bye, bro-sin,” Jacob called, trying to be brave._

_“See ya in a few.  I’ll bring you some pizza.”_

_**Monday, February 1, 2010** _

_**Missing: 2 years, 4 months and 25 days** _

_Josh kept his promise.  Every day that He went to work, Josh visited Jacob.  Two and a half weeks after they first met, Josh found Jacob inconsolable._

_Checking him for injuries before grabbing a towel from the dirty clothes to cover him, Josh took off the hood and the tape._

_“What did He do?” Josh asked, shaken._

_“Said she_ died _!” The last word made him choke.  “My mom!  He was saying I’d get to home home, but now He says since I don’t have any parents, He has to be my dad!”_

_Josh felt sick.  Then mad.  Because he was almost 100% positive he had just seen Jacob’s mom on the news today during current events time in Social Studies, and not for being dead.  (There was a different name, not Jacob, but it was definitely Jacob’s face on the poster, and in the woman’s features.)  She was talking about him.  Saying they were still looking._

_(Was Josh’s family still looking?)_

_It was a good thing his disappearing wasn’t a current event.   It would be too weird seeing his own face while he was sitting in a desk three hours away.  But Jacob had been taken from Santa Barbara, even further up the coast than LA.  Much farther away from San Diego.  Police probably didn’t even think to look for the same bad guy._

_“Stop crying.  Stop crying, okay?” Josh finally had enough and grabbed Jacob by the shoulders.  Hung on tight.  “Stop crying so I can tell you He’s a liar!”_

_Jacob froze.  Stopped crying.  Maybe stopped breathing from fear._

_Josh let go, and Jacob dragged in a huge breath.  Then another.  Then another.  Then he said: “What?”_

_“I swear, as your bro-sin, I am not messing with you.  I saw your mom on TV in Social Studies today.  She was telling you not to give up hope.  That they’re still looking for you.  He probably just told you that because_ His _mom died and He wants somebody to feel bad like Him.”  Josh took Jacob’s face between his hands.  Stared at him hard.  The hardest thing was to not be able to give Jacob a hug when he needed it._

_(Jacob needed to get off the damn pole.)_

_“Your mom is alive.  That’s true.  She just said she’s not giving up.  She just told you not to give up.  So, don’t okay?  Do what He says because you have to…but don’t believe Him.  Promise?” Josh asked._

_Tears flowed from Jacob’s eyes.  Even with the towel, he shook with cold.  But he swallowed.  “Promise you’re telling me the truth?”_

_“Jacob, I wouldn’t lie about this.  I’m like you.  He did the same thing to me as he’s doing to you.  I’m not like Him.”_

_“Okay,” Jacob breathed, his grey eyes locked on Josh’s brown ones._

_Josh checked the time on the old-fashioned watch He gave him, instead of a cell phone.  Almost no time til He came home._

_“Sorry, bro, I gotta do this,” Josh apologized.  He took the towel off first and put it back in the basket, giving Jacob as much time to look around, to talk, as he could._

_Right before Josh put the tape back on Jacob’s mouth, Josh heard it, just a whisper from Jacob:_

_“Love you, bro.  Stay alive?”_

_Josh nodded, tears falling down his own face, as he secured the tape in place:_

_“Stay alive,” Josh vowed._

_Hood._

_“I love you, too.  I’m sorry.”_

_Lights out._

_Engine._

_Boots._

_Keys._

_Josh was sprawled on the floor, seemingly absorbed in homework in his room when He passed by.  Level 1 was there to help him not show every damn thing on his face._

_“Give you any trouble?” He asked, like they both took a kid from his family on Christmas night._

_“No,” Josh said, as if he was surprised to hear mention of another person in the house.  “Forgot he was even here.  Maybe he’s sleeping.”_

_“Please God…  That one’s such a whiner…”_

_“Please God…” Josh echoed - not a complaint - but a prayer._


	41. Chapter 41

_**Tuesday, March 30, 2010** _

_**Missing: 2 years, 6 months and 23 days** _

_“I wrote about you in school today.  No real stuff.  I say you’re my cousin and we hang out,” Josh said as he pressed his back to the other side of the pole.  Jacob’s chains dug in.  It really smelled Down Here.  Josh was shocked that He hadn’t let Jacob shower yet._

_Jacob wanted to not talk today.  His eyes were blank.  His face was purple from a bruise.  The rest of him was hurt bad, too.  He didn’t even want to eat today.  But he was listening._

_Because when Josh taught him how to write a word with his leg, Jacob started moving his under the towel._

_Josh spelled Mom and Mama and Mariana and even Brandon, just for practice.  In the distance, Josh thought he heard a car drive up.  He hurried to get rid of the towel.  To get Jacob looking like he had when Josh found him._

_Even though he was glad Jacob was getting better at disappearing, Josh didn’t like to do the tape and the hood when he was like that._

_“Bro?  Are you in there?  It’s Josh.  I gotta do this,” he whispered urgently.  “I love you.  Stay alive, okay?”_

_The voice was faint, but it was there:_

_“Okay.”_

_Tape._

_Hood._

_**Wednesday, April 21, 2010** _

_**Missing: 2 years, 7 months and 14 days** _

_When Josh asked about when Jacob was going to get to go to school, He laughed.  Then, He backhanded Josh so hard that he flew across the room._

_“You must think I’m an idiot…” He sneered.  “Like I’d risk sending you two dumbasses to the same school.  I mean, I get why nobody notices you, but that one’s still got the face and the eyes.  Hasn’t lost the pathetic look yet.  Nope.  He’s on the pole until I decide otherwise.  Now get your ass over here.  You gotta give me something to pay me back for your total stupidity.”_

_Josh stood and let it happen.  The living room was different.  Josh focused on the wall.  On Cookie Land, where he hadn’t needed to go nearly as much since Jacob got here._

_He went to work late, but He did go, which meant Josh could sneak down and check on Jacob.  He smuggled down some Pop-Tarts and grape soda this time.  (Always better to go with leftovers from his own lunch than to raise suspicion by having extra food go missing around The House.)_

_Josh fed Jacob Pop-Tarts and soda, even though Jacob said he didn’t want them._

_“You do, too, want them.  You can’t stay alive without food.”_

_“Why bother?” Jacob asked.  “I’m never getting out of here.”_

_“Listen, I never told you this…but my mom…she’s a cop,” Josh said seriously._

_“Really?” Jacob asked, a little interested, finally._

_“If anybody can find us, she can,” Josh said firmly.  “And plus?  He literally_ just  _told me this.  He’s afraid people will recognize you.”_

_“Great, so I’m in_ more _danger….” Jacob mumbled._

_“No.  He’s_ afraid _.  He says all the time being afraid makes us dumber, right?  So, all we have to do is wait.”_

_“For what?” Jacob asked, a little curious._

_“For Him to make a mistake.”_

_**Monday, May 10, 2010** _

_**Missing:  2 years, 8 months and 3 days** _

_“What day is it?” Jacob asked, as soon as the tape was off.  It was a thing he did now that he was feeling a little better about life.  (The idea of Him making a mistake had made Jacob’s eyes seem brighter.)_

_“May 10th, 2010,” Josh reported.  (Jacob liked it when he included the year.)_

_“My birthday,” Jacob breathed._

_“No way…” Josh said, shocked, feeding Jacob bites of his peanut butter sandwich.  “Mine’s next week.”_

_Jacob inhaled the rest of the sandwich, and looked confused.  “I thought your birthday was in March?  He took you to that stupid movie, right?”_

_“That’s my_ fake _birthday.  The one_ He _gave me.  My real one’s May 17th.  You’re turning twelve, too?”_

_“I’m twelve_ today _,” Jacob said, stunned.  Glancing down at the dirty towel covering him and the chains, he shook his head.  “I’m twelve and I’m stuck here.”_

_“Well, then we have to celebrate.  We know He’s not gonna do anything special.  Nothing you actually_ want _, anyway.  Hold on.  I got an idea!”_

_“Stay alive!” Jacob called at Josh’s back.  “Josh!  Stay alive!”_

_Josh couldn’t help it.  He grinned.  “Not yet, but yeah, of course.  Stay-alive-love-you-bro.  Now do you want your present or not?’_

_“I’ll get in trouble.  He won’t let me keep anything.”_

_“Dude.  He’s not gonna take it away.  He’s not gonna_ see _it.  We’re gonna eat it before that happens.”_

_Before Jacob could protest again, Josh booked it upstairs and looked in the cupboard, where he knew all His secret snacks were.  There were so many, there was no way He would miss the twin chocolate Hostess cupcakes.  Josh crammed the package in his shirt pocket and closed the box and the cupboard.  Then he gave The House a careful once-over before going back downstairs._

_“Happy birthday,” Josh said, whipping the cupcakes out of his shirt._

_Jacob’s eyes lit up for real._

_“Not exactly birthday cake, but…” Josh apologized, unwrapping the first cake and offering it for Jacob to eat._

_“No…”  Jacob’s words were muffled as he tried to talk around the chocolate.  “It counts!  I say it counts!”_

_Josh offered the other, and to his surprise, Jacob shook his head.  He was getting to look sick-skinny, not in the position to turn down food._

_“No.  We share.  That one’s yours.  For your birthday.  I can’t get you a present so…” he nodded._

_Josh blinked.  He had gotten to go to a movie.  Had popcorn.  A soda.  It wasn’t a movie he’d liked and it definitely wasn’t with a_ person _he liked but it was so much more than one cupcake chained in a basement._

_“I had a birthday already….” Josh argued._

_“Yeah, but that was your_ fake _birthday.  This is for your_ real _birthday,” Jacob said, certain._

_So even though he felt awful about it, Josh ate the cupcake.  And he thought.  When the cupcake was gone (in two seconds), Josh asked:_

_“If you could have anything for your birthday, what would you want?”  (Josh had given Jacob what_ Josh _thought he’d wanted, but the truth was, he really didn’t know what_ Jacob _wanted.)_

_Jacob thought for a while.  “I’d want to get a message to my mom,” he said, finally._

_Josh pulled a pen and a notebook (Science - He would never look there) out of his backpack and opened to a blank page in the back:_

_“What would you say?” Josh asked seriously.  “I’ll write it down and keep it safe.  Then, when He makes His mistake, I’ll give it back to you, so you can give it to her.”_

_Jacob swallowed.  A tear escaped and then another.  He really did feel stuff super deep._

_When he started to speak, Josh was ready.  He wrote:_

Dear Mom,

It’s me.  How are you?  I miss you a lot and I think about you every day.  I think the day might be coming soon when I can go home.  My friend, Josh, is helping me write this letter, so that’s why the handwriting looks different.  Josh also keeps asking me how to spell words because he says he wants it to really look like I wrote it and you know I am a good speller.  Anyway, I want you to know I’m doing okay.  Josh is here, so I’m not alone.  He looks out for me.  So, please don’t worry.  I love you more than anything ever.

Your son,

_“Isaac?” Josh asked._

_“Yeah.  That’s my real name.”_

_“Oh.”  Josh said._

_“What’s yours?”_

_(Cold.  Click. Black.)_

_“Josh?” Jacob was calling.  “I said it’s okay.  You don’t have to tell me.”_

_“He’ll shoot me if I say it again,” Josh admitted, his voice blank and heavy._

_“Then don’t,” Jacob insisted._

_Josh breathed.  Tried to focus.  To come back from whatever level he was on.  But being Down Here was so hard.  The smell alone made him want to gag.  He was surprised Jacob could stand it._

_He met Josh’s eyes with a steely determination.  “If I don’t get out of here…I need you to give that letter to my mom.”_

_“We both_ will _get out,” Josh said fiercely._

_“Okay but_ if I don’t _.  Promise me you’ll do it.  Please, Josh.  You’re the only one who can.”  (Josh hated to even think it, but He was right.  Jacob had those eyes.  Eyes that made you agree.  That made you act.)_

_“Yeah, okay, I promise.  But no matter what?  If I get out, you’ll get out.  And if you get out, I’ll get out,” Josh said.  “No matter what happens, we’ll be with each other.”_

_Jacob nodded.  “Hey, He seemed a little weird today.  Maybe you should leave early?  Just to be safe?  And take the wrapper.”_

_“Right,” Josh shoved it in his shirt pocket.  He hesitated at the towel.  “The least He could do is let you wear some damn clothes…”_

_“Doesn’t matter,” Jacob lifted his chin.  (_ He doesn’t think he’s strong _, Josh thought,_ but he is.  Stronger than me _.)_

_“Hey.  Keep an eye out for that mistake, okay?  I love you, bro.”  Josh held the tape in his hand an extra second.  They weren’t done.  “I’m so sorry I keep doing this, but I don’t want Him to see anything different.  To hurt you worse.”_

_“I get it.  Love you, too, bro.  Thanks for my birthday.”_

_Josh nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat.  “Stay alive?” he asked._

_“Stay alive,” Jacob echoed, his eyes shining._

_Tape._

_Hood._

_Lights out._

_No keys._

_No boots._

_But He came home twenty minutes later - four hours early - with a stomachache._

_It was a good thing Josh listened._


	42. Chapter 42

**NOW**

**Monday, November 24, 2014**

**Home:  3 years, 1 month and 10 days**

Five days since Jesus sat down with Ethan, and he can’t stop dreaming about Jacob.  It’s been bad.  Put him on edge.  Made him pissed.  Scared.

It’s made Frankie so alert that now, she checks from the doorway of any room, to see if he’ll snap at her.  (“Buddy?  Are you scared right now?  I am  _not_  E.T., okay?  I promise.”)  In the three weeks since he’d touched base with her outside the restaurant, about fears, Frankie had been thinking about it.  Even though the conversation had been about way more than that, Frankie had zoned in on the being afraid part, and her own fear, and somehow merged both together whenever she approached him.  (And she always follows that up with: ‘By the way?  If you  _are_  scared?  Just say ‘back up,’ and I will, okay?  You don’t have to yell.”)

It’s getting under his skin, like almost everything is these days, but it also helps.  Frankie’s nothing if not direct.  She helps him keep that important stuff in his head when he’s freaked out.

Pretty much the only good thing that’s happened since Jesus came back from talking to Ethan was that he found a letter from Mariana in his mailbox that same night they came back from the park.  In five days, Jesus has read it a bunch.  He keeps it in his wallet like it’s money.  It’s that important to him.

At least three times a day, Jesus has to read the letter.  It’s written on bright pink stationery paper.  Pink flowers in two corners and  _Best Friends Forever_ across the bottom:

_Jesus,_

_So I know we don’t talk about this, but I’m going crazy not talking.  Especially not talking to you.  If you don’t want to read this or if it’s too much for you after today, just throw it away.  But just in case it was like this for you…well…I thought I’d share._

_When I think about That, or when people at school ask me about it, I never know what to say.  It’s not their business, I know, and I would never tell them anything personal about you.  It’s just…when I think about it?  Words don’t come.  Feelings do.  Mainly this one awful feeling._

_People at school don’t get to know my memories, especially because they just want them for pity-gossip.  But YOU do…if you want them.  (Sorry, I’ve just been thinking about this ever since you put up the mailbox, but I wasn’t sure if you could take my baggage, with all you’re going through.  But since all I really want is a way for us to connect, maybe the mailbox and the random letters are you saying you want the same?  And maybe that means I should meet you halfway…)_

_Here goes:_

_There was this one night, right after we got to Stef and Lena’s.  Maybe it was the first night?  (But everything about that time is so blurry, so I don’t know for sure…)_

_Anyway, I just remember waking up in the middle of the night, and feeling totally alone.  Because you just weren’t there.  But I totally expected you to be.  You always were right next to  me.  But not that night._

_I was like, frozen with fear.  Scared to move.  I didn’t know where I was, and worse, I didn’t know where you were.  It wasn’t like at Ana’s where we were always together.  I just remember this huge amount of fear.  This crushing grief.  There was too much space without you.  It was like you just vanished.  And I couldn’t keep it together.   Started sobbing: “My brother’s gone!  My brother’s gone!”  I was beyond devastated because I thought it was forever.  It was dark and unfamiliar so I couldn’t even think about getting up to look for you.  (And even if I could have moved,, who would protect me from the dark and the Things in the dark?)_

_After what felt like years alone, crying my eyes out, Lena came.  She picked me up and I don’t remember her saying anything, but she just brought me down the hall and opened the door to your room.  You were in bed, asleep, and Lena said: “You’re brother’s here, love.  He’s right here.”_

_And it’s weird if I say to the girls at school that you being Gone and coming home again is like this one memory from when we were five, but maybe it’s not if I say it to you…and maybe it sounds like I’m minimizing it, but I’m not, I swear.  This is me being clear, Jesus.  This is me being honest.  This is the closest I can come to telling anybody what it was like.  I haven’t told Callie.  I haven’t told Moms.  Or Dr. Ramirez.  I’m telling you.  And I really hope it’s okay._

_I hope YOU’RE okay after today and everything that happened.  I’m trying to respect you by understanding that you can’t share hard stuff over and over, especially right after it happens.  But if and when you need me, just let me know and I’ll be there.  Thanks for asking me to come today._

_Always your backup,_

_Mari_

Writing back to Mariana felt like coming home all over again, but mostly in a good way.  He’d been nervous, yeah, of course.  But the chance to connect with his sister again was pretty much all he’d ever wanted since coming back - he just hadn’t known how.

Taking a deep breath, he’d found some drawing paper.  Jesus sketched them from the back, holding hands.  He drew grass.  A path.  The sun going down, and in the distance?  A house with a front porch and a swing.  On the back, he wrote:

_Mari - You never have to be afraid to share with me.  I love hearing your memories of us.  Even the hard ones.  I’m sorry it scared you that I wasn’t there when we were little, and later.  I always wanna be here for you, I just need a lot of time and space to deal sometimes.  But I’m always thinking of you.  I always love you.  Do you have anymore memories of us?  My memory is crappy, but I love hearing about us.  I drew you another memory instead of that scary one (even tho that one is totally valid.)  Just for in case you need something more positive ever.  This is us, on our way to Stef and Lena’s together.  I am not doing the best but your letter helps so much.  I already read it 3 times.  I hope you’ll write again.  I feel like we’re really talking for the first time.  AYB, Jesus_

Jesus reads her letter when he wakes up from another dream about Jacob.  

It’s early Monday morning.  Still dark.  The dream had been so real, with him fighting to unlock Jacob’s chains with toy plastic keys.  

_“My real name is Jesus,” dream-Jesus says.  (Not Josh.)  He’s sixteen.  “I found the keys.  I can get you out.”_

_“Try the yellow one,” dream-Jacob says.  He’s still eleven-or-twelve.  Covered in chocolate pudding.  “Yellow is my favorite color.  So that has to be right.”_

_Dream-Jesus tries all the keys but none work.  None fit.  And then there’s boots.  They’re gonna get caught._

_Jacob’s crying and his tears are melting off all the chocolate pudding.  He tries to lick it but it’s fading like old ink._

_Dream-Jesus thinks that Jacob is gonna say how hungry he is, but instead he looks straight into Jesus’s eyes and says: “You have to hide the keys.”_

Jesus had gasped and started awake.  He’d turned on lights.  Read Mariana’s letter.  Played some Brandon-music in his headphones, but he could not stop shaking.  Could not get the smell of the damn basement out of his nose.  He stared at his wrists.  Level 1, at least.  

In a daze, with Jacob’s face and his voice still echoing in Jesus’s head, he feels his way around.  (He’s at home in the dark.)

Making his way to the front door, he gropes around for the wooden bowl that holds everyone’s keys.  Jesus brings it to his room, removes every key and then returns the empty bowl.

Finally, he falls into a fitful sleep.


	43. Chapter 43

Jesus groans and buries himself deeper in his blankets.  Every fifteen minutes, the bathroom door slams.  (Jesus feels like slamming somebody, but he doesn’t.)  Between Brandon, Callie, Mari and Jude, they sound like elephants, crashing in and out.  There are a lot of perks to having no door.  Hearing your loud, loud sibs as they get ready for school at 6:30 AM?  Not one of them.

(Seriously.  Who can he call for backup when they’re  _all being so annoying_?)

“Lena, honey?  Have you seen my keys?”  Mom’s asking.

“I’d assume they’re in the bowl by the door, my love…” Mama.  Irritated, because Mom always assumes she knows where something is, so she doesn’t actually look for it.

“Well, I’d assume that, too, except it seems that all of our keys have gone missing…” Mom muses, perplexed.

Jesus sits up.  Swears it makes his heart drop all the way down to his ass.  

Did that really happen last night?  He glances at the hall through the beads, and sees no one.  Yet.  He tries to remember the hazy thing that felt like a dream.  Not the Jacob part - that’s vivid as hell.  The part after that where he walked through the house like a zombie, feeling around in the dark like he didn’t need eyes, and stole the house and car keys like a damn hoarder.

There’s not a lot in his room.  It’s how Jesus likes it.  Extra stuff makes him feel nervous.  Lucky for him, it also means searching the room doesn’t take long.

He finds them.  Safe.

(Safe?  What the hell is wrong with him?)  Why does it feel like his life depends on hiding them?  He knows where he is.  Knows the damn dream was just a damn dream…but he doesn’t have to try hard to smell waste.  Dirt.  Sweat.  The dampness.  The sick-sweetness of laundry soap and dryer sheets that doesn’t mask anything.  And fear.

Jesus blinks.  He’s been staring at his wrist where the sleeve has ridden up.  At the proof of chains there.

“Jesus?  You didn’t see Frankie playing with the keys at all, did you?” Mom asks.

“No,” he shakes his head.  Yawns.  

“And you don’t know where they are?” she presses lightly, standing off to the side of the beads, to give him privacy.

“No, I mean, they were there last night when we checked everything was locked, remember?” he asks.  

“And you haven’t seen them since then?”

“I’ve been sleeping.  Or trying to,” he balks.  (He remembers another lie.  How easily it came: “ _Maybe he’s sleeping_ …”)

It’s amazing how well he can lie.  He used to be a terrible liar, but now the fear just brings it out of him.  Mom’s halfway down the hall by now, having told Jesus to keep an eye out for them.  Now, she’s interrogating the other kids who are freaking out about not being able to drive to school.

“Seriously,” Brandon’s saying.  “Why would any of us take them?  We need them to drive places.  You know, like school.  Did you check Frankie’s bed?  She has klepto tendencies.”

“I can’t check her bed for keys, B.  She’s sleeping.”

_(“Maybe he’s sleeping…”)_

_(“You have to hide the keys…”)_

Shaking his head, to try and clear it, he scribbles a note to Mariana:

_Mari I need backup.  Please come.  I did something but I need to make it right and I can’t ‘cause I’m scared and I’m freaking out.  Jesus_

“Guess you’ll have to walk to school…” Mama’s saying.

“No way!  We don’t have time!” Jude.

Jesus takes a deep breath and goes out to the hall.  Sticks the letter in Mariana’s mailbox with a corner obviously showing.  He hopes she’ll come back up here.

He’s back in his room.  Back to the wall.  Arms at his sides.  He’s the opposite of grounded, he’s blank.

Across the hall, he can hear the mailbox open.  In seconds, Mariana’s knocking on the doorframe.

“Jesus, it’s me.  I got your note.  I’m here for backup, okay?  I’m coming in.”

He hears, but can’t answer.  When she’s there, Mari wastes no time.  She grabs his favorite blanket and covers him.  The gesture is so familiar, tears spring to Jesus’s eyes.  

“I did something…” he whispers, staring at the blanket.  Jacob would like it.  It’s yellow.

“It’s okay.  We’ll figure it out together,” Mariana says.  She sounds calm.  “I loved your drawing,” she says gently.  “Would it be okay if I hung it in our room?  The words would stay private on the back.  I just like what you drew so much, I’d like to be able to always see it.”

“Really?” he asks, glancing at her.

“Really,” she nods.  “Now, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Ethan.”

“Yeah?”

“Ever since last week, I’ve been having these dreams…about Before?”

Mariana looks troubled but steady, still.  She nods.

“And I had one early this morning…about plastic keys.  I was trying to save somebody.  But I couldn’t in time, and they were like, “You have to hide the keys.”  There’s a lump in his throat.  His eyes are bright.  “It felt so real.”

Mariana’s quiet.  Mama calls up the stairs for Mariana.  They’re leaving to walk to school.  She needs to come, or she’ll be late.

“I’m talking to Jesus,” she calls back, but not too loud.

(That, they both know, is a Get Out of Jail Free card.  And right now, Jesus is super thankful for it.  He needs his sister.)

“Jesus,” Mariana says, once Mama’s cleared her and promised to write a note, excusing her from whatever she misses.  “That sounds really scary.  But it was just a bad dream, okay?  I know it felt real.  But it wasn’t.”

His eyes flash.  For the second time in less than a week, he aggressively shoves his sleeves up.  Thrusts his arms out.  “Was this a dream?!” he challenges, his voice too intense.  “Or was this real?!”

She gasps a little, shocked, but recovers quickly.  “Real.  _That was_  real, okay?  But what you just said about plastic keys?   _That_  was a dream.  I can’t lie to you, remember?  That’s not our thing.”

“Honesty?” he asks, checking.

“ _That’s_  our thing,” she nods.  Proud.

“I lied to Mom,” he admits.  “She asked if I knew where the keys were.”

“Can you tell  _me_  where they are?”

He shakes his head.

“Can you  _show me_?” she tries again.

Slowly, Jesus unfolds himself and stands.  It feels so good to move around like this.  Free.  Sometimes, it still hits him fresh.  He drops to his knees by his purple beanbag chair and carefully unzips it.  He roots around until he finds all four sets of keys.  Holds them against his chest.

“I’m not gonna take them from you.  But can you tell me something?  If Dr. Hitchens were here right now, what do you think she’d tell you?”

Before he does anything else, Jesus focuses on getting grounded again.  On breathing.  On being fully present.  Then, he says:

“She would say this isn’t happening right now.  It was just a dream.  That I’m safe and I don’t need keys.”

Mariana stands in front of him, and repeats:  “This isn’t happening right now.  It was just a dream.  You’re safe with me.  I’m your backup, remember?  So you don’t need keys.”

He wants to hug her so bad, but he can’t let go of the damn keys.  If he does, they’ll make that sound he hates, and he’ll lose it even more.  (And Jacob.  He can’t let them go because Jacob said to hide them.)

“No one is gonna hurt you here,” Mariana offers.  It’s one of the family’s stock phrases that he needs to hear over and over.  So she says it.  But she also means it.  “Even if Moms know you took the keys, they won’t hurt you.  Whatever freaked you out in the dream, freaked you out because you weren’t safe There.  But you _are safe here_.”

“Can you put them back?” he asks, raw.  “I can’t.”

“Yeah.  Whenever you’re ready.”

Jesus knows he’ll never be ready, so he forces himself to hand them over, jingling them as little as possible because that damn sound haunts his nightmares.

She doesn’t leave right away.  She makes sure he’s okay.  That if he’s not gonna tell Moms about Ethan, Jesus might consider telling them he’s having trouble sleeping.  So they can help.

He nods.  “Hey,” he calls, as she’s leaving.  “Will you write me again?”

“Of course,” she says, and steps to the other side of his beads.  “Try to get some more sleep.”

Jesus doesn’t think he can, but the next thing he knows, he wakes up and it’s after noon.  He makes his way downstairs, messy hair and sweats.  Jesus checks the bowl by the door: full of keys again.  He folds his arms on the way by, though, just in case some part of him still feels compelled to listen to dream-Jacob.

“Did Mom make it to work?” he asks, finding Mama in the kitchen.

“Yes, she got a ride.  Anything you wanna talk to me about?” she asks.  (If she knows he took the keys, she doesn’t seem mad.  He thinks about Mariana.)  Pulls out a chair and loads a saucer with six donut holes.

“Just bad dreams…” he admits.  Cinnamon-sugar donut holes make talking so much easier.

“Yeah?  Any way I can help?”

Jesus shakes his head.  “I think my brain’s just trying to work something through.”

“Okay.  Well, we’re always here if you need to talk.”

“I know,” he nods.  “Thanks.”

They talk about Thanksgiving coming up.  If they need to tweak anything to make it ideal for him.

“We never had Thanksgiving,” he said, surprising himself.  “Turkey was too expensive.  So, no bad memories.”  (Except not eating food.)

Mama hums to herself.  It’s a stress reaction, but a nice one, that Jesus can deal with.

“Surprised I didn’t hear Frankie this morning…” he offers, wanting to help her.  She’s helped him with so much.

“She missed you, but I told her you’d want to know about her day, so try to check in, if you can.”  Mama nods at him.  (Jesus is pretty sure it means thank you.)

“Yeah, I will.  Oh, is the paper gonna have the turkey in it again?  That’d be awesome for me and Frankie to do.”

Mama smiles.  “Yes, every year.”

“Awesome.”  Jesus eats the last of his donut holes and chugs his milk.

An hour later, Frankie’s home, and full of stories of how they traced their hands to look like turkeys in art time.

Jesus is trying to listen, but he’s multitasking.  Talking to Mama reminded Jesus he wanted to check out her Instagram.  It had been a hot second since he’d been there.  Over a month, at least.  His check is worth it, Mama found an awesome little Santa at Target a few days after family therapy.  He wonders if he’ll see it around the house, come December?

The Santa pic has Callie and Mariana tagged, but incorrectly.  It reminds Jesus to check their pages, too.

“Hey Buddy?  I said you can see my turkey tomorrow if you want when I bring it home.”

“Cool,” he says, distracted.  He forces himself to look away from the screen.  To connect with her.  “You know, Mama was just saying that giant turkey picture’s gonna be in the paper again.  Wanna color it together?”

“Let’s do it now!” Frankie exclaims.  She’s right next to his ear, and he winces.

“Oops.  I’m sorry, Buddy.  Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“You didn’t.  That was just kinda loud.  Wanna practice a little softer?”

“ _Let’s do it right now_!” Frankie stage-whispers.  She glances at his laptop screen, where Mariana’s smiling.   “Ooh!  Go to Callie-Online okay?  I wanna see me being a model.”

Jesus smiles and clicks there.  Callie’s Insta is the coolest in the whole family, hands down.  Jesus goes to the one shot that shows the back of Frankie and clicks.

“Hey!  Where’s my face?” Frankie asks indignantly.  

He gets it.  Jesus was kinda expecting to see her smiling face, too.  Bummer.  He backs out of the single pic of Frankie he can find, and spots another one that looks familiar.

Click.

This is definitely a pic of his framed fourth grade school picture.  Why would Callie have that here?  Jesus squints at the hashtag.  He can’t make it out but it gives him a weird feeling.

“Jesus,” Frankie whispers.  He’s about to compliment her for remembering not to scream in his ear, when she keeps going: “I know where there’s more pictures of you.  But it’s a secret, so you can’t tell.”

For one horrifying minute, Jesus is convinced that Frankie has somehow seen Those Pictures that He took.  Online somewhere.  Instead, though, Frankie’s offering her hand.

“No on the computer, silly!  Come with me.  I know right where they are.”

Mama’s in the laundry room off their room, getting some clothes washed and dried before the holidays are here, and it’s crazy.  They walk past her room, and to the girls’.  Their door is closed but Frankie opens it and pulls Jesus inside.  Closes the door.

“Frankie, the door,” he says, a little breathless.  He hasn’t been closed in a bedroom since he first got home and Moms didn’t know.  (Frankie doesn’t know.)

“Oh.  You can still get out, okay?  I just don’t want Mama to see this.”

Frankie’s on her belly, dragging something out from under Callie’s bed.  A big piece of canvas.  Jesus steps closer.

“Ta-da!” Frankie whispers.  “You!”

(The hashtag: srproj15 suddenly makes sense.  He feels sick.)

Jesus is on his knees.  All this time - months - Jesus has peripherally been aware that Callie and Brandon have been doing senior projects.  Neither have been super open about them, mostly keeping them under wraps.  But Callie should have told him this.

She should have told him that her senior project is  _on him_.

Pictures date back to when Jesus was still Gone, like the fourth grade photo of the photo.  But there are others.  A haunting shot of his empty bedroom, littered with toys and clothes, taken through a cracked-open door.  There’s one of him, staring right at the camera, on the day he came home.  (He remembered her taking it, because he’d been so sure she was taking a selfie on the way down the stairs.  Instead, she’d been  _shooting him_.)  Callie’s captured dozens of private moments: him setting a knife on the coffee table when he’d been so intent on protecting Jacob, Jesus hadn’t realized it was actually Jude, who looked eerily similar at that age.  Him and Moms on the stairs a few weeks ago, when Jesus had come home from the doctor totally triggered.  And last week: him and Ethan talking.  Jesus with his wrists out, shouting, his scars visible.  Ethan’s own face, not in view, because of the angle.

Jesus can’t breathe.  This is not happening.  He’s been home three years, and the whole time, he’s been photographed without his consent.  He thought he was done with that.  Thought he’d never have to deal with it again after being There.

“Jesus?” Frankie asks.

“Backup,” he manages.  “Get Mama…”

Little feet, not boots.

Here, but disappearing.

“What is it?” Mama asks.  It sounds like she’s so far away.

His face is wet.  Jesus can’t breathe.

“How could you?” he manages.  “How could you let her do this as her senior project without even asking me?  She literally got permission from  _everybody but_  me!  So Anchor Beach officials know about this?  Some panel knows about this?  Okayed this!  But didn’t ask me!  What about you and Mom?  Did you guys know?!”

“Jesus, we–”

“Did…  You…  Know?”  Jesus rasps.

“Honey, we  _didn’t know_.  We asked.  Callie said she was doing a photo essay.  When we pressed her for details, she said she would show is when she was done.  We had to respect her privacy.”

“What about  _mine_?!” he screams.  He’s devastated.  Wrecked.  Destroyed.  Through the noise in his head, Jesus can hear the front door opening.  Mama saying stuff.  People coming in.

People leaving.

He needs to go blank but he can’t.  For the first time, he can’t.  This is too much.

“Jesus, honey, you need to take this, okay?  It’s going to help you calm down.”  He takes the damn pill.  Swallows it dry.

Someone - Brandon maybe - is trying to get Jesus on his feet.  Talking to him.  Trying to stay calm.

Jesus is still yelling.  What, he has no idea.  He’s walking, with no clue how.  He goes through the beads alone.  Falls on his pile of blankets.  Closes his eyes.  Tries so hard to go blank.  But Callie’s pictures show up, tattooed on the backs of his eyelids.  

Proof.

Proof that Jesus is not safe anywhere.

Not even here.

Not even now.


	44. Chapter 44

**_THEN_ **

**_Monday, June 10, 2013_ **

**_Home: 1 year, 7 months and 27 days_ **

_It was still dark out when they left with Frankie._

_Even though Jesus had been home for around a year and a half, and he obviously knew that Frankie had something up with her development, this was the first time her CP really registered to him.  He’d missed Mama’s pregnancy with her, her early birth, and months in the hospital.  The family mentioned it sometimes.  Jude or Mariana.  But Mama didn’t like to talk about it.  So there was a lot he just didn’t know._

_To Jesus, Frankie having CP didn’t really mean anything.  Not in a bad way, just…she was his sister, and her having CP was just part of her.  Kinda like his PTSD and trauma was part of him now.  Both came with the package.  Frankie had always accepted Jesus and Jesus accepted Frankie, regardless._

_But now, Frankie needed surgery.  She only started walking about six months ago, and they noticed her right heel never hit the floor.  It made her walk on her toes on that one foot. Her arm came up when she walked, too, like a reflex.  Jesus didn’t mind, but Moms were always telling her to put her foot down when she walked.  And that did nothing but throw Frankie completely off._

_It turned out Frankie couldn’t put her heel down and asking her to was really unfair.  Turned out she needed a surgery to fix it.  Moms talked a lot to Jesus about it, and a little to Frankie, at the last minute.  They didn’t want to freak her out.  She was only three, after all._

_They didn’t want to freak Jesus out either, or any of the other kids.  But the truth was, Jesus needed a lot of prep and processing time with something like this.  Something that could aggravate his trauma.  Moms explained in therapy with him, over multiple sessions, what was going to happen to Frankie and why.  They explained she might be fussy because her leg hurt afterward, that she would be wearing a cast to help it heal, and that they would be there to help take care of her._

_“Will she feel it?” he asked, at one session.  For all the horrible stuff that happened to Jesus, he’d never been cut open._

_“She’ll be under anesthesia.  Asleep, with the help of medicine.  She won’t feel anything during the operation,” Mama reassured._

_But after, Jesus knew, Frankie would feel it.  Moms said they’d give her medicine and lots of love to help her cope, but Jesus was still nervous.  Both Mama and Mom went to the hospital with her.  All the older kids stayed at home.  Grams came in to stay for the day, because she was the most calm, and Jesus needed a calm person._

_Grams took them on a hike and a picnic.  Jesus liked the hike, but the picnic made him nervous, eating outside.  Being dirty.  But Grams was prepared and brought a lot of things to wipe up with and then challenged them to find this or that specific thing in nature.  It was a very good distraction, but it was hot.  Jesus drank a lot of water, and that made Grams happy._

_When they came home, Moms were home, too._

_“Where is she?” Jesus and Mariana chorused._

_“She is asleep and the surgeon said she did great,” Mom updated.  Now, I need all of you to keep the noise level down and help each other, please.  Dana,” Mom turned to Grams, “thank you so much for being here.”_

_“It was my pleasure.  Love the chance to spend time with my beautiful grandchildren.”_

_It wasn’t ‘til Grams left that stuff got real._

_The first time Jesus heard Frankie cry a couple hours later, his brain scrambled.  He couldn’t remember where she was in the house._

_He just reacted, and went for the basement.  Even though crying scared him more than anything, and even though his gut said to run away from it, Jesus also knew it was Frankie.  Knew that Frankie was too little to defend herself if…_

_Jesus was breathless, looking around.  Confused.  This basement was not what he had been expecting.  There was no stench.  No pole.  But there was dark.  And cement.  And the door closed behind him (or had he closed it?)_

_“Hey…” a voice scared Jesus so bad, he leapt a foot._

_He whipped around._

_Brandon._

_“What are you doing down here?  You hate it down here,” he observed, irritated._

_The cold cement bit into Jesus’s bare feet._

_“Seriously.  We’re supposed to help each other and I’m trying not to set off your trauma by not touching you, but you gotta help me out here.  Walk back upstairs now.  Frankie’s not down here.”_

_Slowly, Jesus complied._

_That night, it was worse.  Jesus kept hearing Frankie cry, but he still couldn’t see her, as she was camping out in Moms’ room in their bed.  (And because their bedroom basically shared space with the washer/dryer, being in their room meant being nose to nose with several sensory triggers and a bed.)_

_It felt like Jesus was going crazy.  Even though he felt the most safe in his room, he couldn’t shake the urge to protect Frankie.  So he dragged one of his blankets down the hall and crashed just outside their door._

_A few hours later, Mama tripped over him and went sprawling.  The result was chaos.  Noise as Mama crashed to the ground, exclaiming in surprise.  Them, tangled in the dark.  Frankie, startled awake and crying with muscle spasms._

_The hall light flipped on.  (Callie, looking like she’d gotten less sleep than Jesus.)_

_Mama rubbed her elbow, and picked herself up.  “We need to talk,” she said firmly.  “You cannot do that, Jesus.  If I had been carrying Frankie, that could have been very serious.  Look at me in the eyes.”_

_He did, feeling out of control._

_“Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”_

_“I can’t sleep on the floor,” he mumbled.  “‘Cause you might trip with Frankie and she could get hurt.”_

_His leg moved, restless, under the table:_

_D-I-S–_

_“I can understand wanting to be near Frankie and I appreciate you wanting to help–  Jesus?”_

_“I should go to sleep.  Don’t worry.  I won’t be in the way.”_

_He walked to his room.  His blanket was behind in the kitchen, but he didn’t go get it.  He stayed there.  Like usual, he stayed and did nothing._


	45. Chapter 45

**_THEN_ **

**_Wednesday, June 12, 2013_ **

**_Home: 1 year, 7 months and 29 days_ **

_Over the next day or two, Jesus laid low.  Mariana dropped his blanket off at some point.  And Jesus cared, but he also didn’t.  By now, Mom was back at work and Mama was going solo with Frankie.  Jude was at a friend’s house.  But Mariana, Callie and Brandon were around somewhere._

_By now, Frankie had begged to be relocated and was lounging on the couch like a queen or something, watching endless cartoons on Netflix._

_“Buddy!” Frankie shouted, with attitude.  “Come sign my orange cast right now!”_

_Jesus stayed put.  He knew better.  He totally knew better.  He was not about to get too close.  The last thing he wanted was Frankie getting hurt because of him._

_Listening, kind of, Jesus could hear Mariana, lightly reprimanding Frankie, “That’s not how we talk to our buddies, is it?”_

_“Yes,” Frankie pouted._

_It was a distraction listening to them, and a needed one.  Today was seriously messing with his head, and there was nothing he could really do about it.  Therapy wasn’t til tomorrow and by tomorrow it would be too late.  Talking about it wouldn’t matter.  Usually, he could talk to Moms, but he had pissed Lena off so much she didn’t even wanna talk to him, probably.  Plus, she and Mom were so busy with Frankie…_

_Jesus hated more than anything that there was just nothing he could do.  He hated feeling powerless.  He had to do something.  Had to be able to go somewhere to deal with this by himself.  It was his fault, anyway._

_With everybody busy, Jesus found himself drawn back to the basement door.  He opened it.  Closed it.  Started down the stairs.  It wasn’t the same, because most of it was renovated, but he checked out the alcove under the stairs, where they stored everything that didn’t have a home - old VHS tapes of shows Moms recorded off TV in the ‘80’s.  Wrapping paper.  Containers of stuff._

_Jesus wedged himself in, as far back as he could fit, away from the open closet door.  He was all the way back under the stairs, his back against concrete.  Bare feet on the floor.  It was almost the same.  And no one would come looking for him._

_Instead, Jesus’s reality had flipped.  He didn’t need to talk to Mariana in his head.  Or Mom.  Or Brandon.  They were all here with him._

_(“Jacob?” he tried.  “It’s me.  You there, bro?  Stay alive.”)_

_Jesus said the last part in his head over and over, but Jacob didn’t say anything back.  Maybe they weren’t connected anymore.  Maybe Jacob, wherever he was now, forgot all about him.  Maybe that was better._

_Distantly, over his own voice, Jesus could hear his sibs arguing upstairs._

_“He’s down there again.”  Brandon.  Unconcerned._

_“Who’s down where?” Callie.  Confused._

_“Jesus.  In the basement,” Brandon said like Callie was a child._

_“Why don’t you go get him, then?” Callie shot back.  “Seriously.  Moms said to help.”_

_“I got him last time,” Brandon exclaimed, indignant.  “I helped enough!  One of you can go.”_

_“Wait.  When was he down there?”  Mariana.  She sounded afraid._

_“A couple days ago, after Frankie got home,” Jesus could practically hear Brandon shrugging._

_“Did you tell Moms?” Mariana pressed._

_“No,  I didn’t_ tell Moms _.  They’ve been a little busy.  I took care of it.”  Brandon again.  Still offended._

_“It’s bad when he does that, Brandon.  Moms needed to know.  It means he’s triggered,” Mariana in a hushed voice._

_(“I’m triggered right now,” Jesus thought distantly, over his own repetition.  He was stuck in a loop.  Couldn’t stop.  Moms should know.  But Moms wanted him out of the way.  And he was.)_

_“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t keep track of all twelve thousand of Jesus’s triggers and know which ones require Moms to intervene…”_

_The door above him opened.  Bare feet on the stairs not boots._

_“Jesus?” Mariana called._

_Their basement was big.  There were a lot of places to check. Jesus wasn’t sure if he was talking loud or not.  Maybe she could hear him.  Find him.  But maybe not._

_Bare feet on the stairs.  Not boots.  Door closed.  Light off._

_Jesus tried harder. (Jacob, where are you?)_

_Time got away.  Melted.  Jesus sat perfectly still.  Used to the dark and the cold.  It was the same and it wasn’t.  Concentrating was never his strongest thing, but Jesus tried.  Tried to imagine Jacob’s face.  To hear his voice.  But he wasn’t saying anything._

_Probably pissed.  Jesus would be pissed too.  It made sense.  Still, he missed him.  Still, he thought Jacob would be there, if Jesus just found the right spot.  (The House had been torn down, so this was as close as Jesus could get.)  He kept trying.  Repeating._

_“Jesus?”_

_Not Jacob.  A girl.  Callie._

_The closet door was opening and she was crawling in, flashlight in hand.  It hurt his eyes but he just stared.  Just kept saying it, in case Jacob could hear, and just not answer._

_“Hey.  It’s Callie.  You don’t have to stay down here, you know?  You can come upstairs.”_

_“Stayalivestayalivestayalivestayalive,” Jesus repeated, desperate._

_Callie listened.  Then: “Stay alive?”_

_Jesus blinked.  Stopped the frantic repetition.  Jacob hadn’t heard him, but_ someone _had.  “Yeah.”_

_“What are you doing down here?” she asked, concerned but not freaked out._

_Jesus couldn’t talk about Jacob, so he told the other thing he knew to be true:  “I’m in the way.”_

_“Who said?” Callie wondered._

_“Mama.  She tripped over me.  Fell.”_

_“Okay, well I’m pretty sure she meant don’t be underfoot, not come down here and recreate the worst years of your life.”  She said it without flinching.  Without talking around it, but still honestly._

_He met her gaze._

_“The crying…” he admitted, looking away._

_Callie was quiet.  Then she said: “Wanna come out of there?  We could go somewhere?  Talk?” she offered._

_“Like where?  It’s not like we can drive…”_

_“Front porch?”_

_“Yeah,” Jesus nodded.  “But could we maybe just sit?”_

_Callie raised her eyebrows.  “Can I bring my guitar?”_

_Jesus nodded.  “Sure.”_

_She led the way, extending her hand behind her:  “Let’s get out of here.”_

_Hesitating for only a minute, Jesus took it, and followed._


	46. Chapter 46

**NOW**

**Wednesday, November 26, 2014**

**Home: 3 years, 1 month and 12 days**

Callie sits at the kitchen table, her phone in front of Moms on the table.  She stirs her coffee with a spoon, not able to drink any.  The last thing she expected Monday after school was to come home to Jesus having a total meltdown over her senior project.  She’d kept it successfully under wraps for months.  He’d never shown an interest in it, and frankly, Callie had never planned to tell him about it at all.  He wasn’t a student at Anchor Beach anymore.  Why upset him unnecessarily?

But Callie wasn’t as careful as she should have been, because Frankie had apparently seen her putting it back under her bed, and had figured out it was pictures of Jesus.  Plus, she’d decided Jesus would of course be excited to see all the pictures Callie had of him.

He wasn’t.

And now, they’ve spent the last two days in Jesus-trauma-triage mode instead of Thanksgiving planning mode.  Jesus has been in his room since Monday afternoon, not coming out for anything except therapy.  And it’s somehow all Callie’s fault.  Not Frankie’s for being nosy.  Not Jesus’s for just barging into their room, when doing the opposite, and coming into his room without permission was off-limits.  (Seriously, he should’ve just said no when Frankie told him.)

This is the first chance Moms have gotten to sit down with her about it (even though they managed to confiscate her phone with no problems the minute she got home from school and heard Jesus screaming like his life was over, all because of a few pictures.

The truth is, she does feel bad.  She didn’t plan on telling him because she knew he would be uncomfortable with it…and what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

“Callie?” Mom says, impatient. (Shoot.   How long have they been trying to get her attention?)  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t expect him to react like this!  It’s not like I  _showed_  anyone!”  She’s totally on the defensive, but why shouldn’t she be?  Like Moms never made mistakes when they were seventeen…

“You  _took the pictures_ , Callie.  Without Jesus’s  _knowledge_  or  _consent_.  Your brother has had a lot of things happen to him that he had no control over.  Now, thanks to you, he has one more…”  Mom is so angry, she can’t even sit down.  She keeps pacing.  She can’t look Callie in the eye.

“I didn’t mean it like that!  I didn’t mean to hurt him!”  (Are they gonna reverse her adoption?  It’s been five years, but still…this was a pretty big screw-up and they’ve had Jesus for longer…)

Mama speaks up:  “Honey, I know you didn’t, but the fact is, you  _did_  hurt him.  We understand you’re passionate about photography and we think it’s great that you have a hobby that’s also a talent.  But you have to understand that with talent comes responsibility.  Just because you  _can_ photograph a particular moment, doesn’t mean you  _should_.  You need to learn discretion.”

(She gets it.  She’s a terrible person.  Can they be done, please?)  Callie studies her coffee cup.  Wants to smash it.  Doesn’t.

“I thought I  _was_  being discrete.” Callie admits.  “After all, I did have the freedom to decide…”  She looks at their faces.  Mad and madder.  “I’m not being snarky, I swear.  I thought that’s what discretion meant.”

“It also means behaving in a way that avoids revealing personal information.  Being careful.  Cautious about what you shoot.  Some moments are private, love.”

A tear slips down Callie’s cheek.  “Are you gonna send me back?” she whispers.  “If you are, just promise me you’ll take care of Jude.”

Mama comes around the table to sit beside her.  Mom sits on the other side.  

“No, love, that is not what this is,” Mom says firmly.  “Family means forever.  Don’t you know that?”  Her voice is softer now.  Compassionate.  She strokes Callie’s hair.

More tears are escaping and Callie is mortified.  She’s stronger than this.  She doesn’t cry.  She crosses her arms.  Holds herself.  Feels Moms’ embracing her.

“You are our daughter,” Mom says, her voice low and gentle.  “No matter what you do.  No matter where you go.  No matter how old you get.  You’re stuck with us.  We chose you.”

Callie’s trying not to sob, but it’s not working.  She can’t have hope right now.  So she fights it.  “I messed up….” she manages.  “I messed up so bad…”

“Do you know how many mistakes I made when I was seventeen?” Mama asks.

“Yeah, but your mom  _has_  to keep you…” Callie’s broken.  They don’t get this feeling.  (So far, Mariana is the only one who does.  If she’s even still speaking to Callie…)

All of a sudden, Callie’s face is cradled between Mama’s hands.  “Love,” she says in the most strong and gentle of ways, “is not an obligation.  Love is a choice.”

“By that logic, if you choose love, you can also choose not to love.  And that is terrifying.”  Callie grinds out.

“Love is also a commitment,” Mama continues, patient.  Mom and I made a commitment when we chose to adopt you.  A commitment to be by your side, good decisions and bad.  A commitment to love you without condition.  We all make mistakes, Callie.  It’s what we do after that really counts.”

Callie takes a steadying breath.

“So…what will you do?” Mama asks, no judgement.  She’s let go of Callie’s face, but keeps an arm around her shoulders.  “Let’s think about it together.”

“Well, I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do now.  I already presented it and got approval from a jury of community members and the school staff.  I’m almost done.  I can’t start over.”

Arms crossed again.  She’s still defensive.  It’s not easy to let her walls down and keep looking them in the eye.  Callie doesn’t mean to sound so petulant but these two days have been like being slammed back to Earth after orbiting the sun.  Painful.  Dark.  Going from Jesus trusting her enough to ask her to go with him to meet Ethan to Jesus not even coming out of his room because he might see her?  (And what?  Beat her up?  Have a panic attack?)  Well, it’s been hard.

“I love you, and what I say next doesn’t change the fact that I love you,” Mom says, and Callie braces herself:  “You are not moving forward with this project until we discuss it with Jesus and his therapist.”  

“So my graduating high school depends on Jesus and Dr. Hitchens now?” Callie asks, incredulous.

“You showed some very poor judgement here, and Jesus has every right to be upset,” Mom maintains.

Callie nods, chastised.  Swallows.  “I know.  I’m sorry.”

“Go upstairs, please, so Mama and I can discuss this,” Mom says.

She’s almost out of the kitchen, when she turns, unable to resist:  “Any idea when I can get my phone back?” she asks, wincing.

“Right now, graduation day is sounding pretty good,” Mom says, clearly out of patience.

Callie nods.  She knows, she’s pushed her luck just far enough.  Upstairs, she slips past Jesus’s room.  The light’s off.  A plate’s outside his doorway, empty, so at least he’s eating.  He’s not on extra meds anymore, he’s just shutting everyone out.

Jude’s bedroom door opens.  “Are you in trouble?” He looks worried.

“Biggest of my life, yeah,” Callie answers, keeping her voice down.  “I have to go back to therapy with Jesus.”

“Ew,” Jude grimaces.  Callie knows he tolerates family therapy only because he gets to talk about what’s important to him and the family has to listen.  But he absolutely hates the one-on-one type of therapy.  As he put it once: “I’d rather clean toilets than talk about feelings.”

“I can’t have my phone back until I graduate.”

Jude looks horrified.  “What will you  _do_?”

“Think about how, with it, I hurt somebody I love, and how to never, ever do anything like this again…” she whispers, always aware that Jude’s learning what kind of person to be from watching her.  If this were him, she’d want him to take responsibility.  Don’t run.  Don’t shift the blame.

“At least he didn’t pull a knife on you…” Jude murmurs back.

“Go to bed…” Callie warns.  “Seriously.  He is upset and if he hears you talking like this, it could make him way worse.”

“Me?  You’re the one with the bad judgement.  What?” he says, seeing her mouth agape.  “Mom said it.”

“And since when do you listen to Mom?” Callie asks.

“You’re right.  I should stop that,” Jude says, a sarcastic glint in his eyes.  But finally, he’s in his room.  Door closed.

Callie ventures close to her own room. The door firmly closed.  Fights the urge to knock.  Instead, she pushes the door open and steps inside.  Breathes a sigh of relief not to see her senior project out in the middle of the floor.  Glances at Frankie, asleep in her own bed for once.

“She finally fell asleep?” Callie asks rhetorically.  Before she left to talk to Moms, Frankie had been quietly crying, and refusing to talk about why.

Mariana nods.

“She talk to you?”

Another nod.

“So…?” Callie prompts softly.  “What’d she say?”

“She thinks Jesus is mad at her because she scared him with your pictures…” Mariana mutters darkly.

“Well, she kind of  _did_ …” Callie ventures, unable to do what she told Jude she would, and instead, lashing out at their baby sister.

“No, she kind of  _didn’t_.  That was you, Callie,” Mariana hisses.

“So, you’re mad at me, too…of course…”  Callie sighs and turns her back to change. 

“Is that why I was never allowed in here when you were working on your senior project?  Because you knew I’d be against it?” Mariana presses.

“It’s a little thing called  _privacy_ , Mariana.  Maybe you’ve heard of it,” Callie shoots back witheringly.

“Funny that you should mention privacy, when you didn’t show the slightest concern for Jesus’s…”

“Seriously?  Can we not do this right now?  Moms are already mad at me,” Callie moans under her breath.  (They’ve become pros at whisper-fighting ever since Frankie moved in.)

Mariana’s unmoved.  Unsympathetic.  “Yeah, they should be.  How could you do that to him?”

Callie takes a breath.  Finally someone was asking to hear her side.  (Well, not really, but it was as close as she was gonna get.)  “Jude and I came here when Jesus was still missing.  Like it or not, our ending up here had everything to do with his disappearance.  And even though he wasn’t around…it was like he was.  It was weird living in the shadow of a kid I’d never actually met.  And then he was found, and that changed everything again.  It affected me.  A lot.  And I wanted to explore that.  I wasn’t thinking about him, I was thinking about me.”

“Clearly,” Mariana says, not giving an inch.  “So why didn’t you decide to do a photo essay of yourself, then?  Our room?  Your face when Jesus was upset?  When you moved in?  Because he wasn’t here to ask at first, and he wasn’t in the place to consent when he first got back.  We say no for him.  We never say yes for him.”

“I know that!” Callie exclaims too loudly.  Across the room, Frankie sits up, glares at them with sleep-glazed eyes and flops back down.  Callie lowers her voice:  “It was a mistake okay?  And photos of me weren’t going to be as compelling as ones of him…”

Mariana stands up, blankets in hand.  Her backpack.  Her phone.  (Callie is so jealous.)  “So you didn’t wanna tell your own story.  You just wanted to exploit Jesus for his…”

Stunned, Callie sputters: “Mariana…  That’s not…”

“Yeah,” Mariana says, the hurt finally evident in her eyes under the anger.  “That’s it exactly.”

“Where are you going?” Callie insists.

“Away from you,” Mariana breathes, closing the door softly with impressive control.  

Alone in the room, with Frankie sleeping soundly now, Callie contemplates her options.  Thinks seriously about destroying the months (years) of work that have all but destroyed her brother.

But something stops Callie short.  Her mother’s voice.  The one she hasn’t heard since she was ten.

“Sleep on it, honey.  See what comes of it with a little distance.  Perspective.”

So, Callie tries.  She sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning.  The whole time, it feels like the pictures are burning her - like Jesus is judging her - right through the mattress. 

 


	47. Chapter 47

On Monday, Jesus’s world got turned on its head for the second time since he’s been “safe.”  There have been other times, of course.  Times as a really little kid with his birth mom, where she’d be high and there wasn’t enough food.  Where they got locked out of the house.  Or left in the empty one.  There were the foster homes, so many Jesus had lost count.  Each one slowly weakening his ability to trust.

Then there were the Fosters.  (The  _Adams_  Fosters, eventually, when marriage was finally legal for his moms.)  But back then they were just the Fosters.  Jesus remembers Stef - meeting her at the police station - where he and Mariana had been dropped off by the latest foster parents who “couldn’t take care of them anymore.”  Even at five, Jesus had thought how scary it was that no grown ups could take care of them.  How scary it was to be responsible for his sister all on his own.

Stef and Lena, though.  They changed everything.  They were the first adults that proved they could take care of Jesus and Mariana.  Three intense years in the foster system, living with Moms, and being bounced back to Ana when she tried to get clean, and they were finally adopted at eight.  At nine, Jesus got in That Car and at thirteen had to start all over again with the bonding and the trusting.

All for what?

So Callie could creep on him and take pics while he didn’t even know she was doing it?  Moms didn’t even know what she’d been up to?  How could Jesus ever trust them again?  How could he trust his family to keep him safe, when all this time, that was an illusion?

He doesn’t want to think about it too deep.  Besides, that’s what therapy’s for.  He’s been yesterday and today.  Trying to rebuild and work through everything.  At least he can still trust the office, the process and Dr. H.  It’s the only reason he comes out of his room.  Because he knows he needs it.  But he’s not ready to talk about Callie.  Or look at her.  Or see her.

Even just hearing her talk to Jude about how she’s in “the biggest trouble of her life” makes him feel a strange mix of violated and vindicated.  What she did was so bad.  He feels gross even thinking about it.  So, hell yeah, she should be be punished.  Losing her phone should be the least of her problems, but right now, it sounds like it’s the biggest.

Jesus knows she’s faced real loss.  Jude, too.  For all of Jesus’s awful trauma anniversaries, Callie and Jude lost their birth mom.  Their birth dad was driving the car, drunk.  Brandon told him about it once.  The day was awful for them.

But trauma doesn’t excuse this.  Nothing excuses this.

Jesus hears it, the minute Mariana arrives.  It’s hard not to.  Even when she’s trying to be quiet, she makes an entrance.

…Except this time, she doesn’t.  

He can see her, silhouetted by the light down the hall.  She has blankets.  A pillow.  Her backpack.  It’s like she’s moving in.  And it makes him feel secure, except:

“Did you know?” he asks, hoarse.

The day’s coming back to him - the moments he lost and the words he was screaming - he’s starting to remember.  It’s like rocks weighing him down to the bottom of a river.  How Mama had sent Frankie from the room to call Mom.  How Callie and Mariana had come in, and Jesus had rushed at them, shoving Callie all the way back against a wall, until Brandon intervened, dragging Jesus away.  Frankie crying.  Him screaming, “ _I trusted you_ ,” at Callie.  At the family.  Because he had.  He’d trusted them.  Now, he just doesn’t know.

“No,” Mariana says.  “Why do you think I’m out here for the third night in a row?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.  He feels close to blank, but he can’t be blank when he’s talking to Mariana.  

“I’m here because I’m on your side.  Because I’m your backup.  Because I’m mad for you…”

“Then why are you crying?  If you’re mad?” Jesus asks.  It’s subtle, her crying.  He wouldn’t know she was actually doing it, except her voice got thick.  It’s not how she used to cry, he realizes.  She’s adapted for him.

“Because, if  _you_  hurt,  _I_  hurt.  That’s kinda the way it works,” she snaps.  “And I should have known what she was doing.  I should have asked more.  Made her tell me.  Because her doing that hurt you so much.  You not trusting her carries over to the rest of us.  We all let you down, Jesus.”

“Not if you really had no idea,” he manages.  Jesus crawls over, like the slug he feels, and reaches through the beads for Mariana’s hand.

She takes it, tentative.

They just stay like that - her lying out in the hall, him in his room - separated by a curtain of beads.  He lets go, and she moves.

She’s going.

His heart sinks.  He feels totally alone.  Stares at the stars on his ceiling.  It’s fine.  He’s used to being alone.  So, he just thinks for a while.  Mostly about those damn pictures.  Mariana was right.  What happened did hurt him.  It set him back.  He thinks about the pictures he hates, and then one nudges the corner of his mind. Jude, around ten years old, watching Jesus at thirteen.  

Seeing that picture, he honestly doesn’t know how he could have ever thought that Jude and Jacob looked like each other.  Hair color, yeah, and maybe their height at first.  But Jude was sturdier.  So much more confident.  And there was another major difference:

Outside of that first day, Jacob never thought Jesus was going to hurt him.  But in the picture Callie took (Christmas of 2011, when everybody was finally together again) Jude looked guarded.  Afraid.

How had Jesus missed something so obvious?

Jesus hears it in his head - the words Jude had just spoken earlier tonight - in the hall with Callie:

_At least he didn’t pull a knife on you._

Had Jesus ever apologized? Ever tried to make that right?  Because if Callie’s trauma isn’t an excuse for her to systematically destroy three years of safety, security and trust, then his was never an excuse to scare his little bro.

Little bro.

It feels wrong to think it, and right at the same time.  Jude’s not Jacob and he shouldn’t be worried about what Jesus is gonna do.  So, maybe he’ll talk to Dr. H. about Jacob some…and maybe he’ll talk to Jude, eventually.  He’s not responsible for Callie’s choices.

He hears the beads again and glances over.  Sees the entire box of Cheez-It crackers, outlined by the hall light, and a letter.

This whole time, Mariana’s been writing to him.  Emotion closes his throat but he clears it.

“Thanks,” he whispers.  He flips on the light, unfolding the paper and reading:

_Jesus,_

_I don’t know what to say right now, but if my letters help you even the smallest bit, why wouldn’t I write you?_

_Maybe because I’m embarrassed?  Maybe because you’ve always taken such good care of me and I feel like I am sucking at returning this totally vital thing._

_Maybe because I’m guilty.  You really are the best brother ever.  You always protect me.  You always have.  But I can’t reciprocate.  When I could have helped you, I didn’t.  And I can’t forgive myself for that._

_Okay, this letter is getting seriously depressing.  You said you liked hearing stories about when we were little, right?  Well, I remembered one._

_It was Mama’s birthday That Year.  So pretty much right before.  Moms were at work and Brandon was in charge.  He’d just turned eleven, like, two days before.  But he thought being in charge meant bossing us around, and that he got to call Aidan to help him babysit us.  They got distracted (of course) mangling a poor bee on the back patio…and while they were busy you may have locked them out.  (Front and back doors.)_

_I decided that we were in charge and we were gonna bake Mama a cake.  From scratch.  IDK why I was so opposed to boxed cake mix, but I was determined.  I thought baking a cake must be kinda like baking cookies.  You climbed on a chair and got a super old cookbook down.  We destroyed the kitchen, Jesus.  It was so bad.  Technically, we weren’t allowed to use the oven, but I was sure Moms would make an exception if they knew we were using it to bake a cake for Mama._

_Amazingly, we didn’t burn the house down.  The cake turned out.  Like, it baked.  But it looked weird.  Then you found like three different frostings in the cupboard and wanted to use them all to frost the cake - and we were in a rush because we didn’t want Moms to come home to Brandon and Aidan locked outside and us using the oven._

_So, you frosted the cake with oven mitts on, because the pan was still hot.  All the frosting kept melting off and you just kept saying how it was a good thing we were using all of them - vanilla, chocolate and cream cheese frosting BTW._

_Long story short we got the cake done and hid it in the refrigerator.  But Moms came home to a destroyed kitchen and we were almost grounded forever.  But then you were like, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAMA!  WE MADE YOU A CAKE!”_

_Mom took it out and set it on the table.  Mama cut herself a piece right then…and ate it!  (The cake looked seriously weird, Jesus.  She should not have eaten it.)  But we were so proud and she hugged us and said it was the best cake ever._

_That’s how much she loves us, Jesus._

_She ate our scary-gross-made-by-nine-year-olds cake._

_She still does, you know?  She loves you.  She just didn’t know what Callie was doing.  None of us did.  And if you can forgive me for not knowing, try to forgive her, too._

_Mari_

Before Jesus does anything else, he folds the letter back up and tucks it with the other one inside his wallet.  Then, he reaches through the beads again, for her hand, not really looking at what he’s doing.

“Yes.  Hello,” Mariana says.  It’s muffled.  Jesus peeks through the beads.  His huge hand is totally against her face.

“…Kinda like your hand, but different…” he mumbles, embarrassed.  He pulls away.  And just like that, there’s her hand through the beads.

“I don’t know, you know?” he admits.

“Yeah,” she says softly.  “It’s a lot.  But I won’t push you, okay?”

“You don’t have anything to feel embarrassed or guilty about BTW.  You’re here for me the way I need you to be.  That matters.”  He squeezes her hand.

She grimaces but he can see it. “Sorry.  Too hard?” he asks, glancing at their hands.

“No, it’s my stupid stomach.”

“Guilt gut?”  He means it as a joke, but when she doesn’t answer, Jesus thinks maybe he’s onto something. “You can tell me about it.  I didn’t mean to shut you down just now, I just meant that I’m not holding a grudge against you or anything like that.”

Silence.

“Will you tell me about it?  Sometime?” he asks softly.

“Yeah…” she echoes.  Sometime.”

They fall asleep, still holding hands.  

It’s the first time in three nights he doesn’t wake up with nightmares.


	48. Chapter 48

_**THEN** _

_**Saturday, June 12, 2010** _

_**Missing: 2 years, 9 months and 5 days** _

_School had been out for four days._

_Josh hated the summer because it was the longest stretch of time he had with Him where there wasn’t anything to break it up.  Plus His job meant that He was off in the summers, too.  Today, luckily, He had to finish helping clean up the school._

_It meant Josh and Jacob had some time to hang out._

_Josh waited a whole hour after He left in the morning, just to be sure He was really gone.  Food was harder to sneak without his own lunch to take from.  He would definitely notice if any of His food was gone.  Carefully, Josh went through the kitchen.  Filled a big cup with water from the sink.  Then, Josh went to work taking things He wouldn’t miss: two crackers, a handful of dry Cheerios, a single slice of bologna, and a single slice of cheese.  Brought it all downstairs._

_The Pole was empty.  No Jacob.  No chains._

_Quickly, Josh scanned the room.  Finally, he spotted him on the mattress.  Just one chain around his ankle.  Jacob was wearing a huge man shirt.  But there was no blanket on the mattress.  Jacob was just curled on it, facing the wall._

_“Hey, bro?  It’s me.  I brought breakfast…well…kinda…”_

_Jacob turned._

_“Whoa.  You’re clean.”_

_“I don’t feel clean…” Jacob whispered._

_“Yeah…that never really goes away..” Josh admitted.  “But have some food.  It’ll help.”_

_The mention of food still perked Jacob up.  Josh sat on the floor and offered Jacob all the food, cupped in both Josh’s hands.  When Jacob reached for it, Josh saw his wrists were finally starting to heal._

_They were quiet as Jacob ate._

_When he was done, Josh couldn’t help but ask:  “What do you think changed?  Why’d He let you get off?”_

_Jacob shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Just one day he decided, I guess…and today?  He’s been really nice to me.  He gave me this shirt to wear and I didn’t even have to do anything.”_

_Josh got a sinking feeling.  To him, it always felt worse when He was nice.  Because Josh never knew what to expect.  It was easier when He just had the one mood, even if it was bad._

_“Weird,” was all he said.  No need freaking Jacob out, too.  “Hey, do you still want a towel?  I can get you one.”_

_“No thanks, I’m okay.” Jacob was sitting with his knees up, the shirt over them, like a tent._

_“So…what do you wanna do today?” Josh asked._

_Ever since Jacob’s birthday, they started doing this thing where they imagined going somewhere different every day.  At first, Jacob picked his house all the time, to play with his dog, Charles.  Now, though, he was saying they could go places like McDonald’s, or outer space or just outside._

_“Go for ice cream?” Jacob asked._

_“Yeah!” Josh exclaimed, and then clapped a hand over his mouth.  “What kind are you getting?” he whispered._

_Instead of saying vanilla or chocolate or strawberry, Jacob started imagining this monster sundae.  “Like I saw on the Food Network once.  It had a million kinds of ice cream.  I’d get cookies and cream and Rocky Road and mint chip and I’d add candy like Reeses Pieces and sour gummy worms and Butterfinger pieces.  Then…”_

_As Jacob imagined his sundae, Josh was thinking, too.  But not about food.  He was looking at Jacob’s chain.  It looked small, compared to all the chains together.  Maybe they could break it and get out of here._

_“…chocolate sprinkles and caramel sauce and…”_

_“If we got an ax, I could chop your chain into two pieces and we could get away,” Josh interrupted._

_“Where are we gonna find an ax?” Jacob wondered, skeptical._

_“No idea, but He has all kinds of creepy stuff.  He probably has an ax…” Josh offered.  “I’ll look around.  You look, too, in case I miss something.”_

_“My eyes are sore, though…” Jacob protested._

_Josh sighed.  “Fine.  I’ll do it.”_

_“Check on the other side of these boxes,” Jacob suggested._

_Josh looked and looked.  And there was nothing until there was._

_“What the hell does He have this thing for?” Josh asked, gingerly picking up what he’d found._

_“What is it?!” Jacob yelled._

_Josh held it carefully, teeth down.  “Not sure….” he ventured.  “Not an ax so IDEK if it will work or not…”  Slowly, he came around the wall of boxes._

_“It’s a hacksaw!” Jacob said gleefully.  Then, “How do you not know what a hacksaw is?”_

_“Give me a break.  I have two moms, okay?  So, will this work, or…”_

_“Won’t know til we try,” Jacob offered._

_Josh sat down, a good distance from Jacob and started sawing.  “Talk to me about something, bro, I’m sweating I’m so nervous.”_

_“You’re lucky to have two moms.  I just have one…and Charles.  Is it working?”_

_“Yes!  Shut up!  I mean, don’t shut up, keep talking about other stuff…” Josh managed, flustered._

_“You have brothers and sisters?  I just have you, so…”_

_Josh smiled a little, still sawing.  They better get out of here.  This had better work, or He’d totally be able to tell.  “Besides you, I have an older brother, and a twin sister.”_

_Snap!_

_Josh dropped the saw.  The chain was in two pieces.  Both of them stared, shocked.  Finally, Josh’s mind got unstuck.  “Okay.  You’re gonna have to carry this part with you, or drag it.  Can you walk?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Josh ran ahead upstairs and started checking doors, in case He forgot to lock one.  No such luck.  Back downstairs again, Josh looked for Jacob, his own heart pounding._

_“Bro!  What are you doing?!”_

_“Maybe we can use this!” Jacob offered.  “To saw through a lock!”_

_“Good idea!”  They ran upstairs, and skidded to a stop._

_“Well, well, well…” He said, smiling an evil smile, and looking to Josh.  “What are we gonna do about_ this _?”_


	49. Chapter 49

_“I see this one escaped on your watch…” He said gravely, looking to Josh._

_Josh couldn’t speak.  But Jacob reached out.  Grabbed his hand.  Squeezed._

_He knocked the saw out of Jacob’s hand.  It flew across the living room._

_“Do something!  This is your prisoner!” He screamed right in Josh’s face._

_Josh couldn’t move.  This was his worst nightmare.  This was what happened when he didn’t know every last detail - like when to expect Him home._

_“Are you gonna do something, or am I?” He asked, stepping up and yanking Josh’s head back by the hair._

_When He let go, Josh stepped in front of Jacob, blocking him._

_“Oh…I see how it is…” He laughed.  Then He jerked Jacob’s leg chain and dragged him across the room._

_Jacob hit the floor hard and burst into tears.  Hung onto Josh until he couldn’t anymore._

_“Josh!   Josh!” Jacob screamed, more terrified than Josh had ever heard him._

_He was in the middle of dragging Jacob to the open basement door, when He turned.  “If you even think about playing goddamn hero?  You’re next.  Stay here.”_

_The blood rushing didn’t start in Josh’s ears.  He could hear even what he didn’t want to hear.  Even when there was music blasting.  Josh heard Jacob screaming, the way Josh had never heard anybody scream before.  It gave him goosebumps.  And the sobbing.  It was so intense, Josh wondered if it was ever gonna stop.  Josh wondered what punishment he was getting.  If it was one Josh himself got, or Something Else, or all of those?_

_Josh wondered if Jacob was strong enough to take it._

_Staring at the wall helped.  It was white and chipped in one spot that made Josh wonder what happened there.  The carpet was rough under his bare feet.  Josh just kept staring at that wall, while Jacob was…_

_“Stay alive,” Josh whispered and kept saying it.  Shaking.  This was his fault anyway.  This was his dumbass idea.  Why wasn’t Josh the one Down There?_

_But he knew already: Because Jacob was weaker.  Because He couldn’t stand weakness or crying or softness and Jacob was.  So even though it was Josh who let Jacob out, Jacob was getting it.  Because He saw in that moment of Josh stepping up to protect Jacob that the way to get to Josh was through Jacob._

_Nothing He did to Josh had broke him so far, but this would.  This would make sure Josh never was a dumbass ever again._

_Josh wasn’t sure when the screaming and crying stopped.  Josh hoped it meant Jacob was sleeping or maybe that he had passed out from the pain._

_Boots._

_He was there, all sweaty, tossing a shovel at Josh.  “Start digging.”_

_Josh’s eyes went to His other hand._

_A duffel bag._

_For hours, Josh was outside, digging.  Level 3.  Automatic.  Nothing.  The high wooden fences meant no neighbors could see.  They couldn’t see the kid with the ponytail outside digging a hole forever in the heat, while He stood by with his gun pointed.  Ready to shoot._

_It was dark when Josh was finally done.  He made him stand and watch as He put the bag in the hole and put a bunch of dirt on it._

_That night, Something Else lasted for hours but Josh didn’t care.  He was still at Level 3.  But when He jerked Josh’s head back, he snapped back to paying attention._

_“Finally,” He sighed.  “It’s just us again.”_

_Josh shut off._

_For all that day and the next, Josh held out hope: maybe the bag and the hole was like a trick in reverse.  Maybe Jacob was just taking a really long shower.  Maybe he got his own room.  Maybe he really did escape.  Josh pictured him running around the neighborhood in that long shirt.  Pictured some nice person like Stef or Lena finding Jacob and letting him into their house.  Taking his chain off.  Giving him pants.  Socks.  Shoes.  A shirt that fit.  Giving him food.  Taking him to the hospital to make sure he was okay for real.  And then taking him to his mom in Santa Barbara._

_A week later, when He went to work for a construction job that was temporary, He brought Josh Down There and chained him back on The Pole.  The whole time the light was on, Josh looked.  Felt like he might pass out or be sick or both but he looked.  Just in case Jacob wasn’t in the hole or in Santa Barbara but Down Here.  Just in case they could be together._

_Not on The Pole._

_Not on The Mattress._

_Nowhere._

_The basement looked perfect.  Like nothing bad ever happened there.  There was a new bucket.  No stain on the mattress.  No mess anywhere.  It made Josh feel like he was going crazy.  Even though he knew Jacob was real, a part of Josh denied it.  (Because it would be so much easier if it wasn’t.  It would mean this wasn’t all on Josh.  It would mean Jacob - Isaac - whoever he was could still be alive at home with his mom and his dog._

_It was like Jacob had never been there at all, but Josh knew he really had been.  The spot on the pole felt extra cold, and Josh was chained up just like Jacob.  Only there was nobody there to sneak him food or towels or talk to him or write letters to his moms.  It was just Josh like it used to be.  Josh and the deer head._

_(“Do you know what happened?” Josh asked the deer head.  The deer head didn’t answer.)_

_Josh’s head was not covered.  Mouth wasn’t taped.  He had clothes.  Josh was so lucky and such a dumbass that somehow he was still alive and Jacob wasn’t.  Stay alive was for both of them.  Didn’t Jacob know that?  Why didn’t he just listen?  Stop crying.  Just do it.  Just take it.  Josh had.  Jacob was stronger…but he also wasn’t._

_Josh went back to Cookie Land even though he wasn’t hungry.  Imagined Jacob there, too, eating all the caramel.  It was easier to believe that Jacob was never here.  So Josh believed it had always been just like this.  That he had always been alone.  There was no proof and if there wasn’t proof, then Jacob couldn’t be real._

_(Light off._

_Boots._

_Keys._

_Engine.)_

_Days later, Josh found the only proof completely by accident.  Cleaning out his backpack from school that year.  Turned it upside down on his floor and saw his Science notebook.  Cautiously, Josh reached out and picked it up._

_Flipped through._

_Found the letter._

_Went blank._


	50. Chapter 50

**NOW**

**Monday, December 1, 2014**

**Home: 3 years, 1 month and 17 days**

A week has passed since Jesus’s world was turned upside down by Callie’s senior project.  It’s time for therapy again.  This time, Dr. H., Jesus, Mom and Mama are there.  Jesus is as ready as he’s gonna be to talk about what went down.  Not ready for Callie yet.  (Yeah, he’s still avoiding her.)  Maybe next week, though, depending on how this week goes.

Jesus sits in his usual place - a way comfortable chair that he never would have been allowed to sit in Then.  Moms are next to each other on the couch that’s across from Jesus.  Dr. H. sits in a chair between Jesus and the couch.

“Jesus?  Where would you like to start?” Dr. H. asks.

(Deep breath.  Focus.  You can talk to them.)  But Jesus hasn’t even wanted to talk to Moms on the porch lately.  Talking to them now feels hard.  Harder than usual.

He clears his throat:

“Um…” Jesus hedges.  He can’t even look them in the eyes.  Doesn’t matter that it’s been a week, this was a huge breach of trust.  He doesn’t know how they’re gonna get it back.

He looks to Dr. H. for backup, ‘cause he can still trust her.

She nods.  “You can be honest.  You’re safe here,” she encourages.

Finally, he risks a glance at them - well, at their hands.  Fingers interlaced, like him and Mariana lately.  No white knuckles.  No clenched fists.

Jesus breathes again.  Glancing at their faces brings tears to his eyes.  He’s still so damn raw about this.  They look stressed and for once, Jesus just doesn’t care.  They dropped the ball.  He gets that it wasn’t on purpose, but still.  He’s gotta talk to them about this:

“When I first came home, Grandma took a picture of me…”

The memory had come back this week, after years of hiding - resurfacing with the horrendous picture-taking stress.  He remembered it clearly.  Standing.  Smiling.

“Yes, love, I remember…” Mom says.  Her voice sounds stressed.  Quiet.  The opposite of cop.

Bravely, Jesus meets her gaze.  “When I said I didn’t need privacy…did you buy that?”

“Not for one second,” she says, and he nods.  Loves it when she is definitive.

“So what’s changed?” he challenges.  “How the hell did this happen?  How did it get this far?”

Dr. H. calls for a pause and Jesus kinda hates her, even though he gets it.  He just asked, like, three questions, and he has to give Moms time to respond.  Has to give himself time to breathe before he gets too worked up for conversation.  Still, it’s like, he’s spent over four years of his life being quiet and good.  Being cautious had gotten him nowhere.  Being cautious cost Jacob his damn life because Jesus had waited a whole hour before going Down There that last day.  An hour that could have meant them getting away.  Jacob still being here.

“Jesus?”

Dr. H.  

Damn.  He’d blanked out and not even realized.  Not good.  (And so not a good day to talk about survivor’s guilt.  Jesus needs Moms to know how bad this is for him.  He has to focus.)

“Sorry.  I’m here.”

“Where did you go just now?  What were you feeling?”

Jesus picks the easiest question: “I’m feeling angry.”

“What are you feeling angry about?  Do you feel comfortable being more specific?”

“The pause,” Jesus admits.  “It brought up old feelings.   _Submissive_ feelings.  Like I have to ask permission and shit…”  He tries not to swear in front of Moms but in the office, strong language is okay, as long as it’s honest and about your own feelings, not about a person.

“Okay.  Let’s talk about that.  Talk to me about submissive feelings.  What, about the pause, brought them up?”

“That it existed!  You cut me off!”  Jesus is mad now.  Eyes flashing.  “I get why you called it, but I have a right to my feelings in here.  And I wasn’t done.”

“You are absolutely correct.  Your feelings are valid.  The purpose of a pause is–”

“I get what the purpose of a pause is!” he snaps.  “I’m not a dumbass!”

Jesus is losing it.  Losing his grip on control.  On here.  On now.  He can feel it in the way he’s breathing.  The way his heart’s beating.  The way his thoughts are veering sharply to Then, with almost no cause.

Something’s in front of him.  A plastic bottle full of purple glitter and some kind of clear liquid so it floats.  It’s pretty.  Kinda mesmerizing.  Watching the glitter settle is helping him settle.  There were no glitter bottles There.  This level of sensory stimulation just didn’t exist.  That’s probably the point.  Once he’s feeling a little more regulated, he nods, prompting:  “The point of a pause is…” softly.

“Can you tell us?” Dr. H. asks.  “What is a pause?  Tell us in your own words, Jesus.  Take your time.”

His mind trips from Level 3, where Jesus would recite the definition as he’s heard it told to him.  In her words.  It’s back in the present with the glitter and Dr. H. where his feelings aren’t taken away from him.  Where they have weight.  Where he is human.  Because she wants to hear him, not a definition.

“A pause is like, temporary…” he begins.  “It’s to get our bearings and to make sure we’re still present.  It gives other people the chance to respond.”

“Very good points.  Very specific,” Dr. H. praises, her voice calm and in control.  “Now, can you tell me, please, what a pause is not?  In your own words.”

Jesus takes another breath.  Looks from the bottle of glitter to Dr. H’s face:  “A pause is not forever.  It’s not meant to silence someone.  It’s not used to dominate or control.”  Jesus bites his lip.  Focuses on the glitter again.  He hopes that last part didn’t get too real.

“Love those,” Dr. H. smiles and it makes him feel lighter.  Smarter.  More like a person.

After a beat, she asks him to be sure he is grounded and to check in with himself.  He watches the glitter to keep him grounded, but keeps his ears tuned into her.  Presses his feet down, breathes, and tries to unfold his body from sitting forward to stare at the glitter.  Finally, he’s square.  Present.  He can look them in the eyes.

“Submissive feelings?” Dr. H. checks.  “Are they less now, or more?”

“Less,” Jesus nods.  “I was feeling kinda freaked about what Moms were gonna say.  I wasn’t ready.”

“I understand.  Are you ready now?”

Jesus nods.  Says “yes,” quietly.  Clutches the glitter.  (They need one of these for at home.)

Dr. H. sends a nod to Mom and she starts slowly.  Makes sure he’s looking at her in the eyes before she speaks:

“Jesus, you asked me what’s changed since Grandma took your picture and I made her take it down because I knew you deserved privacy.  Is that right?”

He nods.  “Yeah.  That’s right.”

“The answer is our awareness, love.  I walked in as soon as that happened with Grandma.  I saw how you reacted when you saw me with my phone out.  How you just…weren’t present.  I knew you weren’t okay.  I knew what caused it.  This time, honey, Mama and I just didn’t know.  This happened because we didn’t know.  It got this far because we didn’t know.”  Her voice is full.  Un-Mom-like.

“Because Callie’s privacy matters more than mine…”

Mama clears her throat.  “I should have been much clearer when I spoke about privacy to you, Jesus.  I did not mean that Callie’s privacy matters more than yours.  Honey, if we had known what she was doing, we would have stopped it.”

“But you didn’t know.  You didn’t ask.  And because of that, she’s gotten to violate my privacy in a million different ways since I’ve been home.  When I should have been safe.  You guys always say I matter.  But when stuff like this happens, I don’t feel like I matter.”

“You’re right,” Mama nods.  “We should have been more aware and we weren’t.  We are so sorry about that, bud.  You don’t deserve to feel like you don’t matter.  You don’t deserve to have your picture taken without consent and have it used in a way that exploits your privacy.  That’s on us.  Callie is grounded.  She does not have her phone or access to any social media.  We’re monitoring that.”

(Jesus thinks about his advice to Brandon on Facebook…when he was supposed to have been monitored:  You can’t go wrong with a family picture.  Callie was living with them then.  Had she taken it?)  Mama’s still talking:

“We are not allowing Callie to go forward with this project until you and Dr. Hitchens can sit down with her and discuss what needs to happen with it for you to feel safe.  Is there a way that you could feel safe with the existing project or does she need to start again?  But she is absolutely required to speak to you about this, and to ask you for your consent.”  

“Do I have to give it?  I mean, I heard you guys talking.  I know she can’t start over.”

“What do we know about consent?  Remind us what it is, Jesus,” Dr. H. coaches.

“Consent is…given freely.”  He focuses on the glitter.  It’s easier to talk to it.  More calming:  “If it’s coerced, it’s not consent.  If you feel obligated, it’s not consent.  If you’re not present in your body it’s not consent.  If you say nothing, if you’re drunk or high, if you’re a child, if it’s not a clear, comfortable yes?  It’s not consent.”

“That’s very thorough,” Dr. H. nods.  “So, based on what you just said, think about the question you asked your Moms.  Then, when you’re ready, answer it.”

Jesus breathes.  Stares at the glitter.  It’s tough staying present and calm for this long but it’s leaving room for a lot of clear communication.  He’s starting to feel safe again.

“Based on what I just said…If I felt like I had to give it, it wouldn’t be consent at all,” he says, softly.  “Right?”

“If you are not okay with Callie’s senior project…which your reaction made very clear…you do not have to agree to it.  It was Callie’s responsibility to ask you earlier.  She didn’t.  If she has to start over, that will be on her, not you.  Do you understand?”  

Jesus nods.  Mama’s explanation helps.

“But right now, Jesus, we’d like to know what you need from us?” Mama continues.  He can feel her looking at him, even though he’s not looking back.

He glances up from the purple glitter: “Just consider me…” he begs, voice heavy.  “I need this to never, ever happen again.  If that means sitting down with everybody individually and saying this is a thing: we don’t take pictures of people and post them or use them without that person’s permission, then that’s what it means.  ‘Cause right now?  It kinda feels like I’m back at square one.  Like I have to protect myself.”

“I can see why you’d feel that way, love.  Trust has to be earned, doesn’t it?” Mom asks.  “So we would really like to start earning yours again.”

Jesus nods, cautious.  In their earlier sessions, without Moms, they had talked about all the different parts of being human.  That part of being human meant that - not matter how old you got - no matter if you were a parent, a grandparent or just an adult - human beings made mistakes.  Even the best ones.

“I’m working on forgiveness right now…” he offers: a gift.

They look at each other.  It’s shaky, but there’s a bridge there.

“If you could talk about next steps together…  What would that look like?” Dr. H. asks.

“Talking to Callie next week about her project,” Jesus ventures.  “Just with me and her and Dr. H.”

“Moms?  Your thoughts on Jesus’s next steps and what will yours look like going forward?”  Dr. H. asks.

“We’re going to work on earning your trust again,” Mom says.

“Jesus?”  I want you to hold the bottle in your hands, and try to look your mom in the eyes while she’s talking to you.”  Dr. H. turns to Mom.  “Stef, I want you to look at Jesus.  Tell him again what you’re going to work on.  Take your time.  Let the words sink in.”

Looking at Mom’s eyes is like torture.  Jesus remembers eye contact as the worst part of rebonding, because it made him the most vulnerable.  Not being able to disappear is hard.  But he tries.  (Jacob would probably try if he were here.  He’d give anything to be able to look at his mom again.)

“Jesus, I’m going to work on earning your trust again.”  Mom repeats and pauses.

He’s gripping the neck of the bottle hard.  Mom waits until his hands relax.

“To do that, Mama and I are going to be more aware of what your brothers and sisters are doing.  We’re going to ask questions.  We’re going to sit down with them and have a conversation about how taking pictures of someone without permission goes against our expectations.”

When Jesus breaks eye contact, Mom stops.

“Too much?” she asks.

He nods.

Dr. H. has them all breathe and focus and get calm.  When he’s ready again, he asks to hear from Mama.

When Jesus meets her gaze, her eyes are so soft, it almost breaks him.

“Jesus, I think you have a solid plan.  I want you to know that I trust your judgment about what you need.  Going forward, I want to make sure you know how sorry I am.  I want to tell you I’m going to do everything in my power to never make you feel like I am prioritizing your siblings’ rights to make reckless decisions over your safety.”

Jesus nods.  That lands right.

“I promise to consider you, always.”

“Okay,” Jesus nods.  Jesus waits a beat and then raises a hand, tentatively.

“Yes?  You can speak your mind, Jesus.  We want to hear from you.”

“Because we’re not doing family therapy tonight, I was wondering.  Could we maybe keep doing the thing where we honor each other’s feelings?” he asks.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Dr. H. says.  

Jesus glances at her, and offers a tiny smile.


	51. Chapter 51

**NOW**

**Monday, December 8, 2014**

**Home: 3 years, 1 month and 24 days**

The ride to therapy is strained.  Totally unlike when Mrs. Longbottom drove Jesus to the park.  He sort of misses her, but this is way too important and he’s way too stressed out to have her behind the wheel.  Having Callie there is bad enough.  Even though she had sat down with him and Moms last night to talk about going to therapy.  Mom would be working and Mama has an appointment with Frankie.  So that meant Jesus and Callie were gonna have to figure out a way to therapy together, without her triggering him.  Jesus asked how he could be sure that Callie didn’t have her phone and Moms showed him where it was.  

Callie showed Jesus she didn’t have her phone on her before they left.  Not in her pocket or her purse or Lucile.

Still, though.

Slowly, Jesus has started to interact more with the fam.  Dr. H. is having him work on not isolating.  He talks to Frankie and Mariana mostly, and Moms sometimes.  (He came home the other day to find Mama and Frankie in the middle of an art project.  When Jesus saw, Frankie squealed in some combo of delight and terror: “You can’t see this!”)  It’s still hard.  He’s just dropped some major honesty on Mari and he hopes it’s not too much for her:

_Mariana, I’ve been holding back too.  Because I don’t wanna make this too much for you.  Because I wanna protect you.  But the truth is I am struggling so much.  It is so hard to trust right now.  There are times I just wanna quit because it’s so hard.  Because what’s the damn point if I can’t trust you guys?  I know you and Callie are close and honestly that’s so hard for me.  IDK how you can be close to her when she did such a major thing to me.  Yeah, you camped out a few nights and I really needed that and appreciate it.  But then you went back to your room.  It feels like I don’t have anybody on my side and that’s lonely.  Jesus_

Being around the house feels like everybody is walking on eggshells around him, and why shouldn’t they?  They’d all seen him lose his mind.  While Frankie forgives she doesn’t forget.  She’s been keeping a low profile since before Thanksgiving.  He’s gotta figure out why (though he’s pretty sure it has to do with him freaking out after she showed him Callie’s pictures.)

Jesus doesn’t say a word the whole drive there.  Can’t start talking to her until Dr. H. is there, too.  One on one it just feels too intense.

In the office, he has a strong desire to sit on the floor, but he knows that wouldn’t be good for him.  A small thing, maybe, to some people.  For him, though, it means psychological chains.  Inferiority.  Subhumanity.  Dr. H. knows this, so if he sits there, she’s gonna know just how bad it is.  Has to see if he can sit in a chair like a person and talk to his damn sister about damn boundaries.

Callie hangs out in the doorway.  Doesn’t sit til he does.  (In his usual chair.)  When he nods to the couch across from him, she finally moves to sit there.  Dr. H. leads them through getting focused, and it helps some.  Jesus still kinda feels like he might hurl though.

“Where would you like to start, Jesus?” Dr. H. nods.

He shakes his head and nods at Dr. Hitchens.  He needs her help with this.  Needs her to know where the hell to start.

“Okay.  How about if I ask a question?”

Jesus nods.

“How has the communication been between you two over the past couple weeks?”

“Limited,” Callie offers.

“Jesus, who limited it?”

He spots the bottle of glitter by his feet and picks it up.  “ _I_  limited it…’Cause I didn’t feel safe talking to her…”  He sends a quick glance Callie’s way: “I didn’t feel safe talking to you…” he clarifies.

Callie purses her lips.

“Jesus, do you want to tell Callie why you asked her to join you today?  What you need to talk to her about?” Dr. Hitchens asks.

“Your project.”

“I know,” she sighs, infuriating him.

“And  _my boundaries_ ,” Jesus insists, getting pissed already.  This is all it takes for him to get locked into intense eye contact with her.  “Seriously, Callie.  What were you even thinking?”

Her arms are crossed.  Her legs are crossed.  Defensiveness is coming off her in waves.  “You said my photography made you nervous!  I didn’t want to make it worse!”

Jesus doesn’t buy it for one second.  “But you had no problems taking pictures  _without me knowing_!  Callie, do you know how messed up that is?   _He used to do that to me_.”

Callie’s mouth drops open, but she recovers fast.  “Okay, obviously I didn’t know that and I didn’t mean it like that!  It’s a technique I learned from another photographer!  I get that you have boundaries, Jesus, but asking us to respect them when we don’t even know what they are is so unfair. ”

“Jesus,” Dr H. interjects.  “Why don’t you take a moment.  Figure out how you’d like to respond.”  While she talks Callie through opening up her body posture, Jesus tries to think beyond the searing anger.  The violation.  What does he need her to know?

When they’re both ready to talk again, Jesus starts.  “I think that you needing to know the story behind every single one of my triggers is a seriously low excuse for making a choice you should never have made in the first place.”

Callie opens her mouth to protest, but Jesus holds up a hand.  He isn’t done, and he is very much in control.  Hell if he’s going to give it to her before he’s finished.

“You don’t get to know my personal stuff.  It’s mine and that’s the way it is.  You knew enough when you started doing this to get that it was something I was nervous about.  You said it yourself.  If I’d be uncomfortable with you doing it it in front of me, do you honestly think I would have been okay with you sneaking around behind my back?  You knew better and you still did it.”

“What do you need from Callie right now?” Dr. H. asks.

“Acknowledge that you did a shitty thing.  Stop making excuses.  ‘Cause I all I hear when I hear those are that you put a higher value on a grade than you do on me as a person.”

“Okay, but I’m a person, too, Jesus!  You react so badly when I hurt your feelings but you don’t seem to care when you hurt mine.”  Her eyes are full of tears.

“This is so much bigger than hurt feelings, Callie…” Jesus manages, his throat swelling with emotion.  “You didn’t just hurt my feelings, your actions made me feel unsafe.  They made me feel like something that exists for you to use.”  

Arms still crossed.  Legs still crossed.  She feels attacked but she can’t relate at all.  He’s gotta try something else

“What if I knew you back when all the stuff with your bio parents went down?  What if I took your picture and Jude’s picture during the worst moments of your lives?  What if I asked everybody but you if it was okay and they all said yes but I never asked  _you_.  And I had plans to show the whole thing off at school with descriptions about how  _I_  felt about it all.”

Callie has tears running down her face.  Jesus is sorry he’s hurt her but also hopes it has hit home.  He needs her to understand.  

She shakes her head at the idea of him documenting her grief over losing her mom.  Over her dad being responsible.  Horrified eyes meet his.  She gets it.  Finally, she gets it.  “I’m sorry,” she manages.  “I’ll have to figure something else out.  I just don’t know how I can since I already presented and got the idea approved.”

“Well,” Dr. H. says kindly.  “That’s why we’re here.  Let’s think about this together, but since it directly concerns Jesus, let’s be sure we give him space to share.”

Callie nods.

For a while, they all think in silence.  Callie’s picked up the bottle of glitter that rolled near her in the middle of their discussion.  She watches it.  It seems to have the same effect on her.  Jesus likes not feeling like the only one.

“For the record,” he offers “I think you’re epically talented.  I just don’t feel comfortable with the whole world seeing all those pictures of me.”  

“It wouldn’t be the whole world, but I get it,” Callie nods.

Jesus hesitates and then plunges ahead.  “…It would help if I was able to pick the ones I feel safe sharing. To have final say.  And I need you to ask me if you want to take my picture.”

Callie wipes her eyes.  “Deal.  I totally hear you.  I won’t take your picture or share it without asking you first.”

Dr. H. has them write up a plan - terms they both agree to - and Callie and Jesus both sign it.

In the car, on the way home, he feels like he can finally breathe.

“Why’d you do that?” Callie asks softly, as they’re driving.  “When you were talking about doing the same thing back to me…why didn’t you out my stuff to Dr. H?  You had a right to.  I did worse to you.”

“Because it’s still _your stuff_.  It’s not for me to tell.  No matter what you did, it doesn’t give me the right to out your stuff to my shrink.”

“I am sorry,” Callie says, her voice heavy with regret.  “I won’t do anything like this again.  I promise.”

Jesus nods.  “Some of the shots really made me think, you know?  Like that one of me and Jude…  Do you think he’d talk to me?”

“In therapy?” Callie bristles.

“I was thinking more like on the porch tonight.”

“You should ask him,” Callie encourages.

That night after dinner, he asks Moms first.  He even gives consent that they can watch from inside if they want.  Instead of answering, Mama calls Jude into the living room.

“Honey, Jesus has a question for you.”

“Okay…” Jude ventures, uncomfortable.

“I wanna know if you’ll talk to me outside for a few minutes.  Just us.  I’m not gonna hurt you.  Okay?  I swear.  I just wanna talk.”

Jesus is stunned when Jude nods and walks to the front door right then to wait for him.  “Jude!  Dude!  You don’t have to, alright?  Only if you want!”

“I’m out here, aren’t I?” Jude calls back.

Jesus looks at moms and shrugs.  “I’m gonna be out there with him.”

“No brawls,” Mom says firmly.  “If Jude starts to feel unsafe, it’s done and you come in.  If you start to feel unsafe?”

“It’s done and I come in,” Jesus finishes.  “I get it.  I’m not mad at him.  This is about making something right.”

He heads out to the porch, where Jude’s sitting smack in the middle of the swing.  Jesus nods for him to scoot over and he does.  Jesus sits, too.

“So, what did I do?” Jude asks.

Jesus cocks his head.

“Callie said you wanted to talk to me.  And I know you wanted to talk to her because you were mad at her, and you were mad at Moms…”

“You didn’t do anything.  I just wanna talk to you.”

“But we never do that,” Jude objects lightly.

“Are you okay with this?  If you’re not, we can bail.”

“It’s kinda weird…but, like, as long as you’re not hiding any knives on you…” Jude’s eyes get big.  It’s like the words just bypassed his brain and flew out of his mouth.  Like he didn’t even know he said them out loud.

Jesus steps inside long enough to flip on the porch light.  Steps back out and begins methodically turning all of his pockets.  Callie had done the same thing before they got in the car together, to show him she didn’t have a phone on her.  Jesus takes out a box of raisins.  A packet of cheese and crackers. A candy cane.  Tosses it to Jude.  He lifts his shirt just enough to let Jude see the waistband of his jeans.  Turns.

Jude’s wincing.  Jesus knows it’s because he’s seeing the scars Jesus has for the first time.  Not all of them.  Not even close.  Still.  Jude’s brash and opinionated, but he’s sensitive, too.

“No knives.  We good?  Can I sit?”

Jude nods.  “Does that hurt?” he asks.

“No,” Jesus shakes his head.  Sits.

Jude sets the candy cane down between them.

Jesus takes a deep breath.  Stares straight ahead. “You told me a while ago that I make you feel terrible about yourself.  I wanted to say I’m sorry about that.  I’m sorry for hurting your feelings and I’m even more sorry for pulling that knife on you.  There’s no excuse, you know?  But I feel like I wanna tell you something, if that’s cool…”

Jude nods.

“For a long time after I after I got back…you reminded me of someone…” Jesus offers, speaking into the dark.

“Was it Isaac?” Jude asks, and Jesus lets out a breath he hasn’t known he’s been holding.

Jesus nods, but says, “It was Jacob.”

“I watched the show they did on him.  It’s on YouTube.  I watched it on my laptop with my headphones because I didn’t want you to hear and get sad and whatever.  The show said He had him at the same time as He…”

“Yeah, He did,” Jesus confirms.  “So when I came home and saw you, I thought of Jacob.  We were best friends There. I protected him.  Sometimes, I thought, if I’d been harsher with him, he might have had a better shot at making it out.  At staying safe.”

“So you were protecting me harsher.  So I’d be okay.”

“Kinda, yeah.  But that doesn’t make it right.  I should’ve never done that to you.  You’re my little bro.”

Cautiously, Jesus puts an arm around Jude.  He’s surprised when Jude leans into the contact.  It’s like he’s been waiting for this for years.

“All this time, I thought it was me…” Jude ventures.

“No.  Don’t think that.  Don’t ever think that.  I don’t want you to be freaked out by me but if you ever are, please tell somebody, all right?  We’re lucky here.  We’ve got people who will keep us safe.  You shouldn’t have to live afraid.  So, don’t.”

“Okay,” Jude nods.

They pull away.  Just before they go in the house, Jesus stops Jude with a question:

“On that show you watched….was Isaac’s mom on it?”

That night, Jesus finds another letter from Mariana in his mailbox:

_Dear Jesus,_

_That sounds really lonely.  I wish you knew I was always on your side.  I get that you’re protecting me, and I appreciate it, but I don’t need you to.  I want to know how you’re doing.  ALL of how you’re doing, you know?  Or as much as you wanna share with me.  I’m pretty over this sparing our own feelings thing because we’re worried about each other, aren’t you?  I mean, you’re obviously able to handle crazy levels of intense stuff.  And so can I.  So let’s promise each other something: I’ll never trigger you on purpose, but I also won’t let fear hold me back from talking to you the way I want to.  Sound good?  PS I hope you and Callie had a good sesh.  PSS Frankie wants me to tell you she’s sorry she scared you with Callie’s pictures.  Maybe some Jesus and Frankie Time soon?  Mari_

_Mari- The sesh went fine.  I’m not so mad or lonely now but the trust is gonna take a while to build back up.  I don’t want fear to hold me back from talking to you, either.  You know, the whole time I was Gone, I was all about protecting you?  I didn’t forget you.  And at first I couldn’t hear you in my head at all, but right before I came home, I heard you you said: “Sometimes you have to make a choice, Jesus.”  And I hadn’t been Jesus in so long.  But that’s what gave me the push to get away.  Not opportunity or fear, even tho those things were factors: it was you.  I will have Jesus and Frankie Time ASAP.  Thanks for being here.  IDK what I would do without you.  Love you. Jesus_


	52. Chapter 52

**_THEN_ **

**_Wednesday, October 12, 2011_ **

**_Missing: 4 years, 1 month and 5 days_ **

**_6:02 AM_ **

_New Kid had been around for nine days when He woke up Josh with a brutal shove.  Hitting the floor hard, Josh jumped to his feet.  Wide awake now, Josh focused on His hands.  On what He was holding:_

_“Got a job for you,” He said, tossing it to him._

_The clock read 6 AM.  Josh wondered when he would have time to get ready for school.  But he knew better than to ask.  Just walked outside, the gun at his back.  Josh was wide awake as He put a chain around his ankle._

_“I got important things to do today,” He said cryptically.  “So I’m gonna tell you this once, and I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”_

_Josh nodded.  Heart pounding, as He gave instructions for exactly what He needed Josh to do._

_Dig a hole:_

_Five feet across.  Six feet deep._

_Right next to where He’d buried Jacob exactly sixteen months ago._

_He liked New Kid - called him perfect, even.  So, Josh’s hunch right off had been true: no need for two of something if one was perfect and the other was too old._

_Josh swallowed._

_This hole was for him; he was digging his own grave._

_**9:25 AM** _

_Normally, Wednesday mornings meant work at Anchor Beach.  However with the stress of Jesus’s disappearance, plus other difficulties (Lena’s health crisis when she was pregnant with Frankie, Frankie’s early birth and hospitalization plus her recent diagnosis to name a few)  Lena found herself taking mental health days occasionally, on the advice of her therapist._

_Lena dressed Frankie and sang to her softly: “When I see your face, there’s not a thing that I would change - because you’re amazing just the way you are.”_

_Frankie fussed through the process but quieted as soon as she was free to move around again.  Even with all the kids in school, taking care of Frankie was time-consuming.  It was overwhelming.  Lena didn’t know the first thing about parenting a baby with CP._

_If she let herself, Lena became overrun by self-doubt, by blame and sadness.  But she had paid attention to the way Stef had framed the diagnosis for the kids and to their reactions, too.  They weren’t sad and grieving, because Stef presented it as fact.  Not one of the kids asked what might have caused it or even seemed interested in how it came to be.  Frankie was their sister._

_Sometimes, it helped to imagine that Frankie had been dropped off as a foster baby.  That way, Lena could leave her own guilt out of the equation and focus on loving her as she came._

_“Do you want to go to the pumpkin patch today?” Lena asked Frankie, who giggled and crawled away, wanting to be chased._

_“We are going to get seven pumpkins and decorate them, and get all ready for Halloween.  What do you think about that?  Should we call Mom at work?  See what she thinks?”_

_“Mom,” Frankie nodded._

_When Stef picked up, sounding tense, Lena put the phone to their daughter’s ear and coached her, so she said, “Hi, Mom!”_

_“Hey, my baby!  How are you?” Stef gushed, perking up immediately._

_Lena whispered “pumpkin patch” in Frankie’s ear, and she repeated: “Munkin-bat?”_

_“Really?  Well that sounds fascinating.  I’m gonna talk to Mama now, yes?  I love you, Frankie.”_

_“Ah-ya-you Mom!”_

_It wasn’t until Lena got on the phone herself that she realized her mistake: seven pumpkins.  Not eight._

_**12:37 PM** _

_Josh had been digging for hours.  His arms were sore and his legs were tired but he kept going.  Had to go fast enough to look like he was making progress but not too slow either because he wanted to stay alive._

_His heart tripped in his chest.  “Jacob?” he said in his head._

_It made sense if Jacob was trying to get a message to him - and that message especially - right now.  But it kind of destroyed Josh, too.  It made him think back to the last time he tried to get away._

_(They tried to get away.)_

_Josh was gonna have to do so much different this time.  Like not try to be a damn hero for one thing.  If he was gonna get out of here (and if he was gonna be any good to New Kid) Josh knew he couldn’t involve him.  Safer for him to try something first.  But what?_

_Ever since He first brought New Kid here, Josh had been thinking about it.  Mariana’s way of acting out stuck in his head.  He could use that.  Probably.  If he could think of the rest._

_Josh’s stomach growled but he kept digging.  Not thinking about what he was doing but what he was going to do.  Had to stay quiet and do what He wanted until just the right moment.  Knew better than to yell for help.  Around here, they’d just think it was some kid playing a game, not real life.  And he needed to be sure to stay alive long enough to actually get away._

_“Mom?” he tried in his head.  “Mama?  Mari?  Brandon?  If you guys are there, tell me what to do and I’ll do it, okay, I promise.  Just tell me.”_

_“You are so damn slow!  What is wrong with you, dumbass?” He asked, jerking Josh’s leg chain and making him fall._

_Josh almost passed out because he was thinking of Jacob and the way he squeaked and skidded across the linoleum.  Josh remembered staring at the hacksaw in the corner of the living room - glad He didn’t have it with Him and Jacob Down There.  Josh thought about how frozen he was that time._

_“You can’t get stuck this time, bud.  Stand up.  Keep going.  You have to keep going.”  Mama.  Inside his head after all._

_Josh stood and started digging even faster._

_“That’s more like it,” He said.  “Now I got work this afternoon, and you’re gonna stay out here and keep digging.  If you half-ass it, I’ll know.  If you try anything, I’ll know.  You got one job.  What is it?”_

_“Dig,” Josh said, voice flat._

_“Jesus,” Mama said in his head.  “You’re safer in public, love.  See if you can go to school tomorrow–”_

_“–But make it seem like His idea,” Mom butted in._

_Josh kept digging: “Are my teachers mad at me?”_

_“How the hell should I know?”_

_“For being absent.  I’m usually not ever.  I just thought, you know, they might be mad.”  Rambling.  Not good.  Josh was quiet, thinking, but kept his face blank._

_“Can I be absent tomorrow, too?” he asked carefully._

_He grinned an evil grin.  “Oh, you’re gonna be absent for a_ long _time…”_

_Josh puffed out a breath.  Full-on Level 1 to help him fake it: relief.  “Awesome.  ‘Cause I have this huge test in pre-algebra coming up tomorrow, and I am not ready for it.  It’s good news I’ll miss it, right?”  Josh kept his eyes on the dirt.  Ears tuned the the rhythm of the shovel. Could practically hear the gears turning in His head._

_“Oh, I think you can go to school one more day.  Can’t have you missing that test…” He said, even happier now._

_Josh’s mouth dropped open.  “You said I got to be absent for a long time, though!” he exclaimed (pissed, not scared, no tears.)_

_“You will be.  After tomorrow.  Keep digging, dumbass.  By the way?  Your room?  Is going to Caleb,” He said over His shoulder.  “Enjoy it while you got it.”_

_“Where am_ I _gonna sleep?” Josh insisted, more fake anger at His unfairness.  Keep digging.  Hard.  Josh had to make it look like he got more energy from being mad._

_“Oh, I’ll find a place for you, don’t worry.  Dig.  Dumbass.”_

_Once He was in the house, and Josh still had his back to the door, Josh breathed out.  It worked.  It actually worked.  He couldn’t resist an opportunity to make Josh know how dumb he was, so he was going to school._

_Excitement and terror crashed inside him.  School was a good Part One.  But what was he gonna do next?  How was he gonna get out of here?_

_“Stay focused, love.” Mama._

_“We’re right with you.”  Mom._

_The wind blew rustling the leaves on the trees around him:_

_“Stay alive,” they whispered._

_Goosebumps rose on his arms._

_“I’m trying, Jacob.  I’m really trying,” Josh whispered back._


	53. Chapter 53

_**3:12 PM** _

_When He left for work, it was so hard to keep digging.  To not scream for help.  To not look around for something to chop his chain off.  But no.  Josh had to stick to the part of the plan he knew for sure: he had to go to school tomorrow._

_His muscles ached and burned.  His arms felt like lead weights.  Checked the watch on his wrist.  Nine hours digging.  Almost no progress.  Josh had no idea how he had done this the first time.  Must’ve blanked out and just done it.  He wished he could do that now, but he had to listen to Mama.  Had to stay focused._

_“Hey.”  Nine-year-old Mariana was there in his head.  “Think about me.  Think about coming back.  Think about how this is probably the last hard thing you’re gonna have to do.  Moms don’t make us dig holes.  Plus, if they make us work hard, they help, and they give us food and water.”_

_“Okay, I get it.  Jeez, I’m digging okay?” Josh said out loud.  (If He really was watching somehow, He’d just think Josh was talking to himself.)_

_Josh imagined he was digging his way home, each shovel full of dirt bringing him even closer._

_All his hair was hot and heavy on his back.  He smelled like sweat.  Gross.  Josh was so gross.  Probably the grossest kid ever.  It made him wonder again if Moms even wanted him back.  Then, he wondered about New Kid.  That made Josh a tiny bit jealous.  Because at least Down There it was colder._

_“Jesus, listen.  We have to think together, okay?  All of us.  If you’re going to get out of there,” Mama said._

_“So, what do I do?” he asked in his head.  “I can’t break any of His stuff or He’ll kill me.”_

_“You know if you break stuff in a store, the cops come and arrest you?” Eleven-year-old Brandon was there, sounding impressed and scared._

_“I can’t get arrested.  Mom would be so pissed!” Josh shot back in his head._

_“It’s a means to an end, love.”  Mom._

_“No idea what that means…” Josh admitted silently._

_“It means I understand and I need you to do this for me.  I know cops scare you.  But I need you to trust me.  I need you to get arrested.”_

_(Okay.  Mom had lost her brain.  Officially.  What the hell was she saying?)_

_Josh felt so dizzy he almost passed out.  This was crazy.  He couldn’t do this.  What if the cops got him and just sent Josh back to Him?  It happened with Ana even though she couldn’t keep them safe.  It would happen again, and then he would just die anyway.  Josh just made his family up in his head to deal.  They weren’t actually there.  Mom would never tell him to get arrested!  She was a cop!_

_She was a cop…  If Josh got arrested, they wouldn’t know who to call.  Josh could give the cops Mom’s cell number.  (She’d had the same one forever, and made them memorize it in case of emergencies when they were in kindergarten.  Josh couldn’t forget it if he tried.)  They could call her instead of Him.  She could come and get him and…_

_“I can’t.  I can’t say all that.  Where I’m from.  My other name.  Your name.  What if it’s a guy cop?”_

_“Ask for a woman,” Mama said calmly._

_“Oh, like it’s that simple…” Josh scoffed privately, hefting another shovel full of dirt._

_In his mind’s eye, Mama crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow._

_“Oh my God!  Fine!” Josh snapped.  (His mind was super sassy.  If he ever saw Mama again, he wouldn’t be so disrespectful.)_

_“You know what was such a good idea?” Mariana piped up after another long time of digging._

_Josh waited, but kept digging._

_“Those notes you wrote last Halloween and hid in the candy bowls!”_

_“You mean the notes nobody found and when they did they thought it was a prank?” Josh insisted silently, wiping sweat out of his eyes._

_“Yeah!  Those!  Write another one with the most important stuff on it, and when they start asking questions, give that to them.”_

_“I’d have to write it after school or something, so He didn’t catch me, or find it…”_

_“Duh, Jesus.”_

_The expression was so Mariana that Josh couldn’t help it, and he smiled just a little._

_**7:19 PM** _

_Back home, after a successful trip to the pumpkin patch, Stef couldn’t help but feel irritable._

_It was nothing particular that got under her skin.  At fifteen, of course, Brandon was making sure everyone knew how “over this” he was.  He sat and refused to pick a pumpkin.  Callie and Jude at fourteen and ten, were awed by the experience, and Stef suspected it was their first time pumpkin picking, too.  And at thirteen, Mariana patiently carried Frankie through the rows, until they found the perfect “baby pumpkin” for Frankie.  (For the record, Frankie shared Brandon’s temperament about this, despite her earlier excitement.)_

_Lena snapped pictures and kept taking videos of the kids and Stef just found herself growing more silent.  That evening as they carved and painted pumpkins, and Lena put pumpkin seeds in the oven to toast, Stef stepped down the hall - slipped upstairs and into Jesus’s room.  The kid who loved Halloween wasn’t even going to be here to celebrate it.  Not just this year.  Never again.  Stef had to accept that._

_But Stef had always felt like she had six separate hearts running around outside her body.  To wall one off forever?  Well, she couldn’t do that.  As much as she had told Mariana differently just a week or so ago._

_She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat, so she let her thoughts do the talking:_

_“Jesus?  It’s Mom.  Can you hear me?”_

_**11:32 PM** _

_After seventeen hours of digging, with only a couple breaks for water, He unchained Josh and let him come in.  Made him shower.  Told him to come to His room after._

_Josh hated His room the very most.  But told himself that it was good that He wanted him in here, even if it was for Something Else._

_This would be the last time._

_Josh didn’t fight.  Didn’t yell.  Didn’t fall asleep like he really wanted to.  Instead, Josh did everything He wanted.  Even thanked him for being able to go to school tomorrow.  When it was over, Josh said:_

_“I really need to study for my test.  Is that okay?”_

_“No amount of studying is gonna make you any smarter, but go ahead.  Knock yourself out.”_

_When Josh went to his room to get his backpack, the bed was stripped.  All Josh’s stuff was gone.  Carefully, Josh went through his bag to make sure he had the right stuff in it.  His Science and Language notebooks from a couple years ago._

_Opening to a fresh page in the one that was basically like a journal in sixth grade, Josh wrote:_

Journal entry #2 Wednesday October 12, 2011

I have to get out of here.  He had me out side digging a hole.  He did not say but I think its to put me in after because that is what he did when he made me dig the other one.  It was to put Jacob in..  Tomorrow I will do the plan.  If this is the last thing I write, I love my family.  My real one, not Him..

_Josh put the notebook back in his bag and zipped it closed._

_He fell asleep and dreamed of walking into the local Target, and breaking all of their most expensive stuff._


	54. Chapter 54

**NOW**

**Sunday, December 14, 2014**

**Home:  3 years and 2 months**

It’s been about a week since Jesus’s session with Callie.  So far, she’s been keeping her word.  Her project is in Moms’ room now, and every so often, he goes to the door, knocks, and gets a handful of pictures to look through on his own.  Five pictures at most, five minutes at most at a stretch, each day.  The ones Jesus does not feel comfortable with Callie using, he returns to Moms.  The ones he does like, Jesus sticks in the mailbox outside the girls’ room, in an envelope with Callie’s name on it.

He’s headed downstairs to find Frankie, when a picture catches his eye on the wall.  It’s definitely from when he was gone - a group shot of the kids.  Mariana looks about twelve, so Jesus figures it was taken around a year before he got away.  He loves this picture because - while there are tons of pics of the kids from his Missing Years - this is the only one where Mariana is holding a framed picture of Jesus.  The school picture on all the posters.  In the picture, Mariana’s face is serious, but not unhappy.  Frankie’s less than a year old there, a big smile on her face.  Callie, Brandon and Jude are all there, all smiling, too, but Moms aren’t in the picture.

Jesus hears a gasp and glances down at the stairs to see Frankie, grabbing for the railing and only finding empty air. She’s falling, but Jesus is there, reaches out and grabs a handful of her shirt.

She’s gonna cry - no doubt about it.  Jesus remembers his epic roll down all the stairs right after he got home.  It had shaken him up and he’d been way older than Frankie.  Jesus scoops her up and holds her in his arms, just as she starts to cry, clinging to him.

“That was scary, huh?” he asks.  

She nods.  Her voice is a whimper.  “It’s too slippery and I can’t hold on…”

Jesus looks at her feet.  Socks.  “Why didn’t you scoot?”

“I just forgot to, okay?  It was an accident…” she wails.

“Okay.  I’m sorry.  Listen.  I was looking at this picture,” he boosts her in his arms to point it out.  “I like it.  Do you know who took it?”

“Callie did.”  Frankie hiccuped, rubbing her eyes.  “You don’t like that picture, I bet.  You don’t like any of Callie’s pictures, right?”

“It’s complicated,” he offers.  “You know about privacy?”

“Don’t come in a closed door without asking.  Don’t touch a person without asking.  If they say stop, stop.”

“Another part of privacy is if somebody takes pictures without asking.  Like, if somebody took a picture of you just now when you were upset after almost falling.  Would that feel good or bad?”

“Bad,” Frankie says, nodding.  “‘Cause I felt scared about that.”

“Right.  Pictures are hard for me because the bad guy took pictures of me a lot when I was scared.  He did it when I didn’t know.”

“I punched him for ya, okay, buddy?  ‘Cause it’s okay to fight bad guys, right?” Frankie says, looking him in the eyes.  

“Thank you, buddy.  So then Callie took pictures a lot when I was scared.  And I didn’t know again.  She didn’t ask, “Jesus, can I take your picture, yes or no?”

“Just took it  _no asking_?”  Frankie looks horrified.

“Yeah,” Jesus nods seriously.

“She would go in timeout at my school.”  She pauses, thinking.  “Is that how come you yelled and pushed?”

“That scared you, huh?”  When Frankie nods again, Jesus holds her close.  “I’m sorry, buddy.  Sometimes my feelings just get too big.  Remember when you got mad because I couldn’t come with you to school?  You were really mad then, right?”

“Yes,” Frankie admits, embarrassed.

“You needed Mama’s help to calm down.  Even when you’re older, it’s okay to need help calming down.  It doesn’t mean I’m mad at you, though, okay?  It’s not your fault.”

“Will you hold my hand?” she asks.  “I wanna go downstairs.”

“Can we talk for one more second, though?  I have a question about superpowers, and I really need your help.”

“I want to fly!” Frankie says, excited.  “That’s my superpower, okay?”

“Okay,” Jesus laughs.  “That’s not my question, though, listen.  Are you ready?”

Frankie nods.

“If you had superpowers that could fix the stairs so you could use them super easy, what would you do?  How would you make them the best way for you?”

“Not slippery and more to hold onto,” Frankie said, sure of herself.

“Okay.  Cool.  Hold onto me, buddy.  We’ll go downstairs together.”

Jesus gets pulled into playing Frozen where they turn each other into ice sculptures.  Half an hour later, Moms, Jude and Brandon come in from working in the yard.  Jesus sends Frankie in the kitchen with Jude to get a snack and snags Moms.

They sit down in the living room and Mama is immediately checking in with him:

“You look worried, bud, are you okay?”

That slows him down.  Jesus stops and thinks.  Asks if they have gotten the chance to talk to the other kids about picture-taking and consent.  They assure him they have.  He checks in with Mom about where her handcuffs are - not usually an issue - but in winter when Jesus is used to being chained, they worry him more.

“You wouldn’t use them on me, right?  Like, even if I really screwed up, or you had to go somewhere for a long time?” he asks.

“If you really screw up, we talk to you about it.  If we go somewhere for a long time, we make arrangements for all of you kids to go somewhere safe, like Grandma’s, or you come with us.  I do not use my handcuffs on my family.  Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I just, you know…might need to hear it a lot…”

“Absolutely,” Mom nods.

“What else?” Mama prompts.  (He loves that she can tell there’s more.)

“I get that it’s probably way expensive, and it’s the holidays already, but…we need to fix the stairs.”

“What’s wrong with the stairs?” Mom asks.

“I just caught Frankie from taking a header down them today.  She needs, like, a better handrail or something and some carpet or runners down.  It’s too slippery for her and she can’t get a good grip on the big railing.  I could work on it.”

“Thank you for telling us, Jesus,” Mama says.  “That’s too big a risk for her.  We should have fixed it a long time ago.”

“You know how to carpet stairs and install a railing?” Mom asks, confused.

“There’s YouTube,” Jesus shrugs.  “How hard can it be?”

“Wait.  How do you know what she needs?” Mama asks.

“I just asked her.  Same as you guys ask me.  She’s little, but she knows what she needs.”

“You’re a good brother, Jesus.  Thanks for looking out for her.”  Mom says.

“No big deal.  We’re family.  You do what you gotta do for family.”

“Right you are,” Mom smiles.


	55. Chapter 55

Jesus is neck deep in Christmas prep for the fam, with a note on the wall outside his room which totally forbade peeking through the beads.  He has plans to attack the railing and stairs project sooner rather than later.  He’s been thinking about asking if Mike will help.  Mike’s the only one who knows about how to do home improvement stuff.  (All the YouTube videos Jesus could find were totally confusing.)

Historically, Christmas had totally sucked for him.  He couldn’t do the classic holiday tunes at all because they made his anxiety spike so much.  He didn’t do well with all the boxes that came with holidays involving gifts, all because of being trapped some way in His house all on his own.  He always had boxes all over.  And He left the radio on playing Christmas music just to make Jesus extra bummed.

The first Christmas he was home for had sucked extra because Jesus hadn’t known those things would  _be_  triggers until he found himself in a mess of boxes and wrapping paper on the floor, with Christmas music hurting his ears.  By then (after two months at home with just Moms) Jesus knew what to do when he was feeling overwhelmed.  Rather than screaming and fighting and making everybody around him feel unsafe, too, Jesus had booked it to his room.  He had found his headphones, and burrowed under all his blankets, and obsessed about all of his food and water, wondering if it was still there until Moms could help him figure out what the hell was wrong, and reassure him that the boxes were cleaned up and the Christmas music wasn’t playing anymore.

It’s still weird to think that this would be his fourth Christmas home. Over the years, they’d adapted all kinds of stuff for him, but all these years later, it still made him nervous.  Even though Moms had just talked to him about it, he was still weirdly hyper about where her handcuffs were and if she ever would use them in the house, on him.  She was good at reassuring him, but some days, Jesus needed it on a loop 24/7 in his head, so he could know it was still true.

Jesus is trying to work on Jude’s gift when his phone vibrates next to him with a text.  His heart trips in his chest as he looks at it:

Fireworks.  From Mariana.

Immediately, Jesus is shoving all evidence of Christmas prep under his blankets and texts her back:

_Where R U?_

He’s on his feet, when he realizes he can totally hear Mari’s phone chime with his text.  She’s in the bathroom.

Jesus taps on the closed door, taking a deep breath to be sure he’s calmish before he attempts to help Mariana.

“It’s me,” is all he says. She’ll open the door if she wants.  When she’s ready.  “I’m right here, okay?”

Slowly the door opens.  Mariana’s there.  Pale.  Breathing too fast.  Cradling her stomach.

He just looks at her, questions in his eyes.  Then sees a paper clutched in her hand.

“You said I’m the reason…” she gasps, eyes shining with unshed tears.  “I’m the reason that you got away.”

“You  _are_ ,” he says, honest even now.  Because honesty’s their thing.  “Here.  Sit down,” he urges.  “Get your breath.  Like you always tell me, right?  You wanna hold hands?”

She grabs on and squeezes hard.  Tries to breathe.  He tries to slow her down.  Wonders what happened to freak her out this much.  Did she just find the letter?  Just read it?

Jesus breathes super deliberately. Slow and deep.  “Can you match me?”

And she does try.  So hard.  Tears roll down her face.  She’s gasping.  Jesus feels anxiety grip him, but he has to keep it together for her.  She is so calm for him.  It’s probably exactly what she needs.  People help in the way they want to  _be helped_ , he knows.

“I’m the reason…” she manages.  “It’s my fault you left!  It’s my fault He got you!”

She is nearly inconsolable now and Jesus swears his heart stops for a couple beats.

“What?” he breathes.

“That Day…I told you to go home if you were sick, and then I didn’t tell anyone about it.  We could have found you sooner if I had told…  If I hadn’t told you to go…”

(The memory is fuzzy, but it’s there: his class and Mariana’s passing in the hall.  The lines stalling out for some reason so that he and Mari were beside each other, each facing the opposite direction:

“ _What’s wrong with you?_ ” Mariana had asked, making a face.

“ _I don’t feel good_ ,” he’d complained softly, so the teachers did not overhear.

“ _You should go home if you’re sick_ ,” Mariana had said, just before the lines started moving again.)

Jesus needs time to process this, but there just is no time.  Whatever she said or didn’t say, she was just a kid like him Then.  She needs to know the real truth:

“Mariana…” he says, and the words won’t come, so he wraps his arms around her and holds on tight.  She is sobbing.  Shaking.

“What happened to me was not your fault.  Ever.  No matter what you did or didn’t do,” he whispers into her hair.  “We are not responsible for His choices.  I got in That Car, right?  I trusted Him.  Do you blame me?”  

He can feel her shake her head against his shoulder.

Remembers Mom’s words from his anniversary two months back, about needing to connect to him so her words would go to his heart better.  Jesus eases her back, Mariana’s face between his hands.  His eyes are shining with sympathy tears and his throat sticks with a million emotions, but Mariana has to know this.  So, he looks her in the eyes, and forces himself to say the words:

“I don’t blame you,” he tells her.  

She’s holding his wrists, grounding him as much as he is grounding her.  But the words are too much for her to take and she looks away. So he takes her in his arms again.  Holds her.  Rocks back and forth.  Like that long hug Mama gave him when he really needed it.  Jesus lets her cry.  Sure, it makes him choke up, because like Mari said, when he hurt so did she.  The same was true vice versa.

It takes a long time for her to calm down.  Everybody in the family has come by to check on them, and each time Jesus shakes his head, glad Mari is mostly obscured from them, sitting in the bathroom while he sits entirely in his room.  But when Frankie sticks her whole head through the beads to “check in,” Jesus scoots forward until they are both in the bathroom.

The far door is closed and locked.  If this door closest to them stays open, it will offer them privacy, and Jesus a way out, should he need it.

“Sorry, we kinda had an audience…” he apologizes.

Mariana half-laughs and half-sobs.  “It’s okay,” she manages.  (She is still hanging onto him, and Jesus still feels okay.  It’s the longest he’s been able to go without calling Time.  It makes sense that this victory would come with Mariana - he has always trusted her the most - even when he didn’t know how to talk to her.)

“Did you just read my letter from last week?” he asks gently.

“Maybe,” she admits, he head still resting on his shoulder.  “At first I didn’t see it, and then I didn’t want to…finally, I just did it, you know?  Read it.  And this happened.”

“‘Cause it was a lot,” Jesus insists softly.  “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t forget you.  I’m sorry if I made things harder.  …Is this why your stomach hurts all the time?  You were blaming yourself?”

Mariana nods and swallows.  “For a while…a long time…I kept it so buried that I didn’t even get why.  But then you called it guilt gut, and, I don’t know.  That made sense, I guess.”

“You were just a kid, Mari, and you were scared, I bet, right?  I bet you thought you’d be in trouble.”

“I did…” Mariana admits, finally sitting back to look at him.

“Yeah…” Jesus nods.  “I did, too.”

Standing, he takes Mari’s hand and leads her into his room.

“What are we doing?” she asks, drying her eyes.

“I wanna show you something.  Don’t look under those.  Christmas stuff,” he gestures to the pile of blankets with a foot.

“I won’t,” she promises softly.

When he goes to the closet, she comes, too.  When Jesus opens it, and gets down on his knees to look through the mess there, so does Mariana.

Finally, he finds it, letting go of her hand.  His sixth grade journal, which he had never shared with anyone.  Jesus turns the pages until he finds it.  The entry he is looking for.  He rips it out and hands it to her.

She is silent, reading.  Jesus has it all committed to memory.  Can recite it word for word in his head:

_Short story #2 Sunday October 11, 2009_

_Once their was a girl named Mariana.  She was eleven years old.  She had a hard life but soon some nice people saved her and let her live with them and be there little girl forever.  She loves princesses and Bell is her favorite princess.  She has brown hair and brown eyes and the best smile.  I think she feels lonely sometimes.  I think she misses her brother.  He got turned invisible so he is still with her but she cant see him at all.  Some times she dreams about him, but he never dreams of anything.  One day he hopes they can be together again.  The End._

“This was two years before you got away…” she says, breathless.  “You wrote about me?”

He answers her question with one of his own:

“Did you know I was always with you?”

Pause.  She swallows.  Meets his eyes.  Answers.

“I do.  Now, I do.”

  


	56. Chapter 56

_**THEN** _

_**Thursday, October 13, 2011** _

_**Missing: 4 years, 1 month and 6 days** _

_When he woke up on Thursday morning, the first thing Josh noticed was the quiet.  No loud music.  No TV on.  And most of all, nobody in his head._

_Moms, Mari and Brandon were all quiet now._

_It made Josh nervous that they weren’t here to talk to him now, but he knew that he didn’t have a choice.  It had to happen today, or else he would be out of chances.  It was like he and Jacob promised each other: if even one of them got out, it would be like they both were free._

_Josh kept it at Level 1 just so he didn’t slip and give away something about the plan.  If it showed that he was nervous, Josh just planned to blame it on his test.  (Which he did really have today.)_

_It was the hardest thing to keep his regular pace and regular schedule, but Josh knew if he was running around, trying to get out of the house, He would notice and get suspicious.  So, Josh made breakfast even though his whole body ached from all the digging.  Stood behind his chair and thought about math problems, leaving room for his family to come and tell him stuff if they wanted._

_But they didn’t._

_Josh went to school like it was just a normal day.  The hours dragged on like when he was Down There by himself for days or a week.  He massively tanked his pre-algebra test, because he was so nervous.  Told himself Josh would do that anyway, even if Jesus (could he think his old name?) was planning to get away in a few hours._

_He made himself eat lunch and drank as much water during the day as he could, since Josh didn’t know what would happen after 3 PM.  If he would be back There, in the hole outside, or at the police station.  None of those places sounded like they were sure bets for water._

_The clock crawled toward 3:00.  Josh tried to stay busy, but made himself not do anything until the bell rang._

_Then, Josh walked out of school like usual.  Made sure he saw That Car and that He saw Josh, walking home, just like he should have been, at that time._

_This time, though, Josh walked by There and just kept going.  He ducked into a smaller store on the way, to go to the bathroom and write his note to give to the police.  Josh folded it up and tucked it in his sock, where he could always feel it._

_He kept walking, counting his steps, trying to keep a rhythm.  Target was about a half hour away on foot, and the whole way there, Josh’s heart was pounding.  (He was at work until 11 PM.  That gave Josh eight hours to be sure he was safe and be sure cops knew where to get Caleb, before He got home and found Josh gone.)_

_“Where are you guys?” he asked under his breath._

_But still there was nobody in his head.  It felt like his family had deserted him._

_So Josh decided he was doing this for himself, and he was doing this for Jacob.  He still had Jacob’s note for his mom in his Science notebook.  And Josh had made a promise to get it to her.  He had made a promise to stay alive._

_Now outside Target, Josh felt a little bit like passing out._

_(Come on, you dumbass.  You’ve been through so much worse stuff than this!  Just go in there and start breaking shit!)_

_Josh took a deep breath and walked in.  He stared the security camera down until it was out of his line of sight.  It smelled normal in here.  And just knowing food existed in the store made Josh’s stomach cramp like he hadn’t just had lunch two hours ago._

_He had to force himself to walk over to electronics - left as far as he could go - the opposite direction of food.  He had to focus.  Had to do this right.  Had to make sure store people saw what he was doing and called.  Josh had decided on the way over that the smart TVs were probably the most expensive things.  And it didn’t hurt that looking at them brought out a rage so strong that Josh felt like The Hulk.  He never stopped bragging about His smart TV and how it was smarter than Josh.)_

_Josh checked his watch: 3:39 PM.  He’d been here for ten minutes already.  He’d give himself one more minute and then he had to start.  He paced in front of the display.  Paused right in the middle of it.  Made eye contact with a store person:_

_“Can I help you find something?”_

_3:40._

_(What would Mariana do?)_

_Josh kept eye contact, and reached up, for one of the TVs on the shelves, playing Target commercials.  Had to really push, but it fell.  Josh jumped out of the way, dodging it as its plug was yanked from the wall and it crashed to the ground._

_Looked back at the store person whose mouth was moving - whose body was moving - fast.  Josh couldn’t hear anything.  Just blood rushing in his ears.  He kept looking at the store person in the eyes.  Reached for another TV.  Pushed it off the shelf.  Kicked and stepped on the pieces._

_Everybody was freaked out.  Josh could tell.  But none of them put hands on him.  None of them tried to stop him.  He saw walkie-talkies out.  A phone.  Josh turned away and kept breaking TVs.  Had to be sure he broke enough to get the cops here.  To get arrested._

_Josh felt like he had been breaking TVs for six hours, not six minutes, when sirens  cut through the rushing sound.  He tipped another TV off the shelf for a good measure.  Another._

_Hands._

_Josh went blank but not all the way._

_Handcuffs._

_Cops lead him away from the mess and out the door.  Into the back seat of the cop car.  With his arms behind him like this, it reminded him of That Day._

_But Josh forced himself to stay there._

_So he could finish the plan._

_No more disappearing._

_No more disappearing ever again._


	57. Chapter 57

_Josh was sitting in a room when he realized his backpack was gone.  His heart beat even faster.  Where was it?  He hadn’t taken anything, just broken a bunch of stupid TVs!  What about his notebooks?  His journal?  Jacob’s letter to his mom?_

_But Josh pushed those thoughts out of his head.  He needed to get Stef here.  He needed to give them the note.  Only he was surrounded by dude cops.  Not good._

_“What’s your name?” a really big dude cop said._

_Josh swallowed, nervous._

_“Can you tell me your address?”_

_(What had Lena said? Just ask for a woman?)_

_“_ Can _he talk?”a smaller one asked.  “Wasn’t on scene.”_

_Josh glared at them, insulted.  “I’ll only talk to a girl cop.”_

_“Is Saunders still here?” Big asked Smaller._

_“Yeah, I think she’s off at 4:00.”_

_“Well, get her back before she leaves.”_

_Josh stared at the legs of his jeans while he waited.  He could only think one second to the next.  If he tried to think anymore ahead, he’d lose it.  If they were getting him a girl cop to talk to that meant he was still doing the plan._

_Since he couldn’t disappear, Josh counted the seconds and watched the clock.  At 4:04, the door behind Josh opened.  His pulse sped up._

_“My name is Officer Saunders,” she introduced.  Her brown eyes were warm, and they softened as she got a good look at him.  Josh hoped he didn’t look scared.  “What’s your name?” she asked._

_“Where do you live?” she tried again._

_One minute ticked by._

_“It says here you were arrested for destruction of property.”_

_Oh shit.  This was all happening too fast.  Still, he had to stay calm on the outside.  Couldn’t let his fear show._

_“How old are you?”_

_Two minutes.  Three.  (What if she got tired of waiting and those other cops came back?  He had to say something.  Now.)_

_Josh raised his hands, keeping eye-contact with her:_

_“I have to get something out of my sock.  It’s just paper.  Is that okay?”  (Josh thought about how afraid Ana was of the cops.  Of all the talks Lena had with him and Mariana about how to carry themselves around them.  Josh did everything she said.)_

_Officer Saunders was squinting at his wrists, but she nodded._

_Slowly, Josh bent down and retrieved the paper.  Set it on the table between them._

_She reached for it.  Unfolded it.  Read:_

My name is Jesus Foster.  I’m from San Diego.  I want to go home.

_Her eyes widened a little, but she kept her face from showing anything more. She stood up and went to the door.  Talked to another cop.  She waited by the door until he came back.  Offered him an old fashioned phone._

_“I’d like you to dial your home number for me,” was all she said._

_Josh’s mouth went dry as he dialed Stef’s cell.  When it rang, Josh all of a sudden had to pee so bad._

_“Adams Foster.”_

_That voice - efficient, low, warm - Josh would know it anywhere.  He opened his mouth to speak but a huge lump blocked his throat._

_Mom._

_**4:10 PM** _

_“Hello?  Who is this?” Stef pressed.  Who the hell was calling her from LAPD?_

_There was a rustling on the other end of the phone.  Then an unfamiliar voice: “Ma’am?  This is Officer Ruby Saunders with the LAPD.  We have your son here.  I’m afraid he’s been arrested for destruction of property.”_

_Stef stopped what she was doing.  What the hell was Brandon doing in LA on a school day?  “I’d like to speak to him, please.  Put Brandon on the phone.”_

_“We don’t have Brandon, ma’am.  We have Jesus.”_

_“Is this some kind of prank?” Stef asked as anger burned inside her.  Several times over the years, Stef had gotten calls from people who claimed to have seen Jesus.  She had chased every single one, but for a police department to claim they had Jesus?  Well, that had to be on the little shit pretending to_ be _Jesus.  “Put him on the phone.”_

_The phone was passed again, and Stef was getting ready to really let this kid have it when she was stopped in her tracks._

_“Junior Mints,” a boy’s voice said - lower than Jesus’s voice as she recalled it - maybe an early adolescent?  (Jesus would be thirteen now…)_

_Chills rose on her arms.  Once upon a time, right after Jesus and Mariana moved in, Stef and Lena had talked to them about a word they could use if they ever felt unsafe.  Each had their own word.  Stef had never heard Jesus use his._

_But his safe word_ was _Junior Mints.  Nobody, not even Mariana knew it._

_Stef’s heart was racing as she explained the situation to Officer Saunders.  That her son, Jesus Foster, was kidnapped in 2007.  Ruby told her about the note she had been shown.  “I need you to keep him there while I drive out from San Diego, please.  It will be a few hours, but I_ am _coming.”_

_With Saunders on board, Stef hung up and rushed back to the squad car to meet Mike._

_“Who was that?” he asked._

_“I think,” she started, hesitant, “it was Jesus.”_


	58. Chapter 58

_**4:12 PM** _

_When Officer Saunders hung up, Jesus’s heart beat even faster.  “Is she coming?”_

_“Yes, she is.  She wants you to stay with me while she comes.”_

_Jesus squinted.  It was like Imaginary Mom from his head was the real thing after all.  Imaginary Mom would totally tell Jesus to stay with the girl cop.  When Officer Saunders stood up, Jesus did, too.  He did not want to be left behind with the dude cops.  She said something about waiting for his mom in a different room and Jesus stayed close while they walked._

_They got to a way nicer room, and Jesus did feel more comfortable.  She asked him to sit at the table and started trying to ask him questions._

_“Are you hurt?”_

_Jesus shook his head._

_“Looks like your wrists are sore.”_

_“That’s old,” he said, but he bit his lip and crossed his ankles so the right one - with the  fresh chain mark - was in back._

_“Do you know the person who took you?”_

_Jesus looked at the table.  “Him.”_

_“Okay, so a_ man _took you.  Can you tell me what He looks like?”_

_Jesus’s brain got stuck: “Normal,” he managed._

_“Okay. Was He white?”_

_Jesus shrugged.  Until Stef was here, he didn’t want to say anything that might make Him mad.  Just in case.  Describing Him to police would definitely make Him mad._

_“What about a vehicle?  Can you tell me what he’d be driving?”_

_This time, Jesus did nothing._

_“We can wait for your mom to come if that would make you feel more comfortable.”_

_Jesus nodded.  Then: “Do I have to go to jail?”_

_Officer Saunders looked Jesus in the eyes.  “We’re waiting for your Mom.  You and me.  No one’s gonna hurt you.  And we’re gonna get what happened at the store taken care of.  You won’t go to jail for that.”_

_“It’s three hours from San Diego,” Jesus observed, almost nodding off at the table.  “If I don’t have to go to jail, can I sleep?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“And make sure nobody comes to take me?  And only my mom comes in?  She’s a cop, too.  White with blonde hair and blue eyes.”_

_“I’ll watch for her.  I’ll keep you safe.  You rest.”_

_Jesus was so relieved, he didn’t even ask where he could rest.  Just slid out of the chair and under the table, pulling the chairs around himself.  It would be harder for Him to see Jesus if he was curled under the table like this._

_“Thank you, Officer,” Jesus said quietly._

_“You’re so welcome,” she replied, as Jesus drifted off to sleep._

_**5:56 PM** _

_Lena was in the middle of coordinating dinner clean up when her phone buzzed on her hip.  She expected it to be Stef - as she was now an hour late - and as she had been calling every twenty minutes since around 4 PM.  But Lena was swamped with five kids and dinner prep.  (And she couldn’t be a good example to the kids about not talking on the phone at dinner if she broke her own rule.)_

_“Kids, can you keep an eye on Frankie while I talk to Mom?”_

_“She’s in trouble!” Jude crowed.  “She missed dinner and didn’t call first!”_

_“I got her,” Callie offered._

_Lena stepped out back, in need of some air and some privacy to yell at her wife without the kids hearing.  This was happening too much.  The coming home late to follow this lead or that.  Lena needed to tell Stef  the truth: they needed to focus on the kids they had here - on their life now._

_“Where are you right now?”Stef asked, her voice tense._

_“You first,” Lena prompted.  “Because you’re definitely not at home eating dinner with your family…”_

_“Lena, I’m–”_

_“For the second time_ this month _, Stef, really?” Lena insisted, out of patience.  “I thought we agreed after the last one that you weren’t going to do this anymore!”_

_“Where_ are you _right now?” Stef insisted, her voice strained._

_“On the back patio so I can yell at you in private.  Why?”_

_“Because I think I just spoke to Jesus.”_

_Lena’s thoughts and anger screeched to a halt.  “What do you mean, spoke to him?”_

_“An officer from the LAPD called me and said our son had been arrested for destruction of property.  Of course, I assumed they had Brandon.  Maybe Jude, if our ten year old managed to hitch a ride to LA without us knowing.  But when I asked to speak to Brandon, the officer said they didn’t have Brandon…they had Jesus.”_

_“Honey, we’ve gotten prank calls before…” Lena said, her hope falling._

_“Do any of those people know Jesus’s safe word?”_

_Chills rose on Lena’s arms.  “He said Junior Mints?” she gasped._

_“That’s_ all _he said, love.”_

_“Well, how did he sound?”_

_“Older.”_

_“Older like 25?”_

_“Older like a teenager, Lena.  His voice was deeper.  Soft.”_

_“Wait.  What if it’s not him?” Lena asked._

_“What if it is, Lena?  I can’t not check.”_

_“No, you’re right.”_

_“Mike’s here.  I’m a nervous wreck so he’s driving.  Traffic’s horrendous, so I might be a while.  I needed you to know, but you cannot tell the kids.  Not until we know for sure.  So I will text you.  I’m going to keep the line open in case they call again.  I love you.”_

_“Love you, too.  Let me know as soon as you can.”_

_Lena hung up and took a deep breath.  Before she had a chance to fully collect herself, Jude stuck his head out the door.  “Brandon’s not helping.  He won’t even bring his plate to the sink.”_

_“Brandon,” she called, grateful for the distraction._

_Maybe keeping this from the kids would be easier than she thought._

_**8:30 PM** _

_More than four hours since she and Mike started toward LA and Stef had convinced herself that she was not going to see Jesus at that police station.  She’d had to tell Lena, since she’d blurted everything to Mike before Stef could even process it herself.  Lena needed to know.  If the situation were reversed, Stef knew_ she _would want to know._

_But hope was the enemy right now.  Stef could not afford to buy into this being Jesus until she saw with her own eyes whether he was or whether he wasn’t._

_Mike was quiet most of the time, only talking if she asked him something.  It was a huge relief that Vasquez was out with a line of duty injury.  Stef could not deal with his incessant talk of psychics and his “sense” about people right now.  Right now she needed calm and rational._

_“We’re just checking out a lead,” she said under her breath._

_Twenty minutes later, around ten to nine, Mike pulled into the parking lot of the police station where Officer Ruby Saunders waited with Jesus (or not-Jesus.)_

_“I’ll just hang out here,” Mike said, finding a chair just inside the doors.  “Unless you want me to come.”_

_“Text Lena for me?  Let her know I’m on my way to…”_

_“Yeah, I will,” Mike promised._

_Seconds later, Stef’s phone buzzed with a text from Lena - just a string of exclamation points and sobbing faces.  Stef hoped she was doing a better job keeping it together in front of the kids._

_“This way, Officer Adams Foster.”_

_Stef concentrated on breathing.  On counting her steps.  On making this as routine as possible._

_“He’s in here.”_

_Stef glanced through the two-way mirror.  Saw a cop sitting near a table…and…no one._

_They let him go.  (Why would they have her drive all the way out there if they let him go?)  The other officer tapped briefly on the door and held it for Stef to enter.  She waited until the door closed at her back and crossed her arms, ready to let Officer Saunders have it._

_But then she bent down, speaking under the table softly:_

_“Your mom is here.”_

That’s bold _, Stef thought, before she could stop herself._ Promising a kid she was his mother before she could even ID him _._

_Stef couldn’t follow the thought further, because now the chairs were being pushed aside and a child was crawling out.  Long, dark hair in a ponytail.  Long-sleeved shirt.  Jeans, worn at the knees and in the seat.  Only a bit bigger than Jude.  Jesus would be 13 and a half, almost, by now.  She and Lena always thought he’d be tall.  This kid was a peanut.  (_ Malnourished _? she wondered before she could stop herself.)_

_This couldn’t be Jesus.  She couldn’t see his face, but this couldn’t be Jesus._

_Struck silent, Stef just watched, as the child bent and rolled one pant leg past the knee, revealing the same scar Jesus had there.  Same knee.  (Stef remembered when he got the scar - a bike crash so spectacular that their tough little guy had allowed Lena to hug and comfort him for the first time.)_

_Tentatively, his head came up.  Deep brown eyes met hers, and Stef’s heart skipped a beat.  Nearly everything else about him had changed, but those eyes, and that knee.  For the first time in more than four years, Stef was looking at her son._

_“Jesus?” she asked, breathless._

_“Mom?” he whispered back._


	59. Chapter 59

_**8:57 PM** _

_It felt like they stared at each other forever.  Mom looked older but the same.  Jesus knew he didn’t look anything the same which was why he showed her his scar.  That way, she would know he wasn’t lying._

_She kept swallowing and there were tears in her eyes.  Jesus didn’t like thinking he might have made her upset, so he glanced at the clock on the wall.  His heartbeat sped up.  Almost 9:00 at night.  Only two hours left until He got off work.  Jesus had to be sure New Kid was safe, too._

_“Mom,” he whispered again, motioning her close.  When she leaned in, Jesus whispered in her ear.  Gave her His name and the car He drove.  Told her which school He worked at as a janitor.  Jesus gave her the address of both the school and His house.  Then, he said:  “Ten days ago, he got another boy.  He calls him Caleb, and he’s in the basement right now, and he can’t get out.  Please tell the cops to go get him before He does.  Tell them to bring a saw or an ax.  Something strong enough to cut chains.”_

_Jesus hovered next to Mom as she gave the other cops all the information Jesus told her.  His eyes got big as he watched them leave right away.  Everybody but Mom and Officer Saunders, who were there to protect him._

_Still, Jesus felt so nervous.  What if He was there when the cops got there, and He killed Caleb and used the hole Jesus dug yesterday to bury him in?  Jesus paced back and forth.  It was the same thing He did when He was stressed.  The realization had him lurching for the garbage can and throwing up._

_Mom was there, but Jesus kept her back._

_“Don’t…” he begged even though the sound in his head was so loud he could see her talking to him but not hear her words.  “Don’t touch me, I’m gross.”_

_The longest six minutes of his life passed, and then Officer Saunders told them Ethan Hall had been found in the basement, at the address Jesus gave._

_The noise was starting to clear from Jesus’s head.  “Alive?  Is he alive?”_

_“Yes.  He’s alive.  He’s being taken to the hospital to get checked out.”_

_“You should get checked out, too, my baby…” Mom said so nicely, he wanted to cry._

_(Jesus hadn’t been her baby in so long…)_

_“Can I look at you?”_

_Jesus felt Level 3 coming again, fast, but he fought it back.  “How?” he croaked in terror.  He took a step back even though he didn’t want to._

_“Honey, I’m not going to hurt you, okay?  I’m your mom.  My job is to keep you safe and you are safe right now.  That means no one can do anything to you that makes you feel unsafe.  If they do, I’ll stop them.  I wanted to know if I could look at whatever hurts.  Maybe your arms or your legs?  You show me when you’re ready.”_

_“Look with your eyes, not with your hands?” Jesus asked, in a whisper.  Seeing Mom made the phrase come back.  She used to tell that to him all the time._

_“You remember that, yes?”she smiled.  “So do I.  And I promise, I won’t touch you.”_

_First, Jesus showed her his hands, blistered from hours of digging.  Then, slowly, he knelt and pulled up the same pant leg he had before to show his scar.  This time, though, he took his sock and shoe off part of the way, to show the spot where the chain dug in around his ankle all yesterday._

_Just like she said, Mom looked but didn’t touch.  Then she said: “I think we should go to the hospital, just to make sure you’re okay.”_

_“I am,” Jesus said, sure._

_“I can see you’re very strong. You’ve had to be, yes?  You’ve had to be strong and say you’re okay, even when maybe you weren’t?  Even when, maybe, your hands were sore?  And your ankle?  I’d like a doctor to look at them.”_

_“Why?” Jesus was scared but didn’t know why exactly.  “You looked at them already.”_

_“I did, but I’m not a doctor–”_

_“Child and Family Services need to interview the boy,” a dude cop said._

_Jesus hid out behind Mom.  “I wanna stay with you.  Let’s go to the hospital or whatever.”  Anything to get away from the dude cops and all their questions._

_They left right then, after Mom yelled at all the cops that interviews could wait.  They rode in Officer Saunders’ car which was so much better with Mom and no handcuffs.  He sat next to her and stared out the window._

_At 9:14 (Jesus checked the time), a cop said on the radio that they had arrested Chris Mitchell._

_“Where’s my backpack?” Jesus asked, worried.  If He got taken to the very same police station, He could see Jesus’s bag and know it was him that told._

_“It’s safe,” Officer Saunders reassured.  “So are you.  Right, Mom?”_

_“That’s right.  We’ll get your backpack as soon as possible, love.” Mom said.  “Getting arrested was smart thinking.  What made you think of that?” she asked, not moving as he grabbed her arm and leaned against it._

_“You.  In my head.”_

_“I told you to get arrested?” Mom asked, like she might laugh._

_“Brandon told me if you break stuff at a store, you get arrested.  You agreed with him.”_

_“Well, I guess I can’t argue with me, now, can I?”_

_“Nope,” Jesus said feeling almost normal._

_“We were with you in your head?” Mom said quietly._

_Jesus nodded.  “Yesterday, you were there a lot.”_

_“I’m so glad.  I’m so glad you didn’t think you were alone.  You know, I did talk to you, too?  I came to your room and said goodnight to you every night.”  She sounded all emotional - like He would make fun of - but Jesus never will._

_“Did I say it back?” Jesus wondered instead._

_“No.  Not that I could hear.”  She sounded sad._

_“Don’t worry,” he said, squeezing her arm.  “I’ll say it back now.”_

_**9:45 PM** _

_It took forever to get to the hospital, but that was okay, because Mom was there.  When they got there, there were tons of cameras and Jesus froze, and buried his face in Mom’s arm._

_“I don’t like cameras…” he said._

_Even though his voice was muffled against Moms sleeve, Officer Saunders still understood.  “I have a blanket, Stef,” she said, reaching over the seat._

_Jesus flinched and didn’t think.  He just slid off the seat onto the floor of the police car.  Mom talked to him for a while about how Officer Saunders was giving them a blanket so Jesus could cover himself.  That way the cameras couldn’t see him.  Even though he still felt like he was trapped and couldn’t breathe, he wanted that blanket.  Eventually, he sat back on the seat and Mom told him how to put the blanket so nobody could see him if they tried to take his picture._

_The flashes were bright inside the blanket, but Mom and Officer Saunders were there, protecting him and making sure he didn’t trip._

_When he was safe inside, Jesus took the blanket off his head, but he still held it.  It was scratchy, but a scratchy blanket was better than no blanket._

_“These doctors are going to help you, okay?” Mom said._

_“Will you stay and guard the door?  In case He gets free?”  (They had TVs all over the hospital, reporting that Ethan Hall had been found alive with Jesus.  He always watched the news to see if anybody was talking about Him.)_

_“You bet.”_

_Jesus had to change into a gown like a dress.  They checked his smashed finger from before sixth grade.  His hands.  His wrists.  But when one dude doctor said he had to look at Jesus’s junk, he screamed and fought:_

_“I’m safe now!  I’m safe!  Stef!”_

_She was right there like she promised, standing between him and the doctor, blocking Jesus._

_“Ma’am,” the doctor said like he didn’t respect Stef at all.  “The boy is safe now.  We need to be able to do our job here.”_

_“Officer Adams Foster.  San Diego PD.” Stef showed her shield.  “This is my son.”_

_“We have a social worker on the way.  You’ll have to wait outside.”_

_Jesus’s heart beat so loud.  (Please don’t go.  Stay here.)_

_“I need you to understand that my son and I have been separated for more than four years.  I cannot leave him, especially when he is feeling unsafe.”_

_“Well, you’ll have to.” Dude Doctor was an ass._

_A younger doctor took Stef to make her leave.  “Ruby!” she called.  “Stay with him, please?  Jesus, honey, I’ll be right outside.  I’m not leaving.”_

_“I’m okay,” Jesus said, even though he was shaking. Ruby was Officer Saunders and she promised to stay and not let them kick her out.  She looked tougher than Mom._

_Jesus couldn’t understand a lot of the medical stuff they said, but when the camera came out, he jumped down off the table and hid behind Officer Saunders._

_“Give us a minute?” she asked, and the cameras backed off.  Officer Saunders turned to him:_

_“I know you don’t like pictures, but these are going to help us put the man who hurt you in jail for a very long time.”_

_“But He already has a bunch of those,” Jesus whined.  “Check his phone and his laptop.  You guys don’t need new ones.”_

_Officer Saunders’ face showed something unreadable.  “Those pictures will be very helpful, Jesus, but so will these.  Can you be brave for me just a little longer?”_

_Jesus sighed.  “I guess…”_

_After 20 billion pictures, Stef came back to talk to him about what was gonna happen next._

_She said_ rape kit  _and told him what it was.  She said he could be asleep for it, and when he woke up, they’d stay a little longer and then go home together._

_“What if I don’t want to sleep?” Jesus asked, nervous.  (The only thing worse than being awake for Something Else was being asleep for it.)_

_“It’ll be very uncomfortable,” a girl doctor said._

_“I can take it.  I wanna be awake.  Please,” Jesus added, because it was always better to be polite, in case it made them nicer._

_Stef must’ve seen the way Jesus panicked about going to sleep, because she nodded.  “These doctors will explain what they’re doing every step of the way, and why, so you won’t be surprised.  Okay?”_

_“And after, can we go home still?” Jesus asked.  That was the only way he’d make it through what was coming._

_“Yes.  After we’ll go home.”_

_“Will you be in my head?” Jesus asked._

_“Every minute.  I promise, my baby.”_

_Jesus swallowed and nodded as one doctor came toward him.  It would be hard, but Jesus would stay here the whole time.  No blanking out._

_(No more disappearing.)_

_That way, he could still hear Mom._

_**10:30 PM** _

_When Stef returned to the waiting room, she found Mike waiting there with coffee.  She had forgotten completely that he had come with her, but she breathed a sigh of relief._

_“I’m so sorry,” she apologized._

_“No.  Stef, are you kidding?  Don’t be sorry.  Is he okay?” Mike asked._

_“Relatively speaking,” Stef nodded, not wanting to compromise her son’s privacy.  “Oh God.  Lena.  I told her I’d call her hours ago, but Jesus is gonna need clothes, and I wanna stay close by in case he needs me and the damn press is everywhere, and–”_

_“I got it.  Don’t worry about it.  You call Lena.  Stick around for Jesus, and I’ll do some shopping. What’s he need?”_

_“Everything.  Jeans, shirt, boxers, socks, shoes.”_

_“Don’t suppose you’d know what size he is?”_

_“He’s about as big as Jude.  Maybe a little bigger.  So around a 10-12.  Maybe a 6 or 7 shoe?” Stef managed, wiping her eyes._

_When Mike left, Stef took a deep breath.  So far, all she’d managed to do was to text Lena to not answer the phone, not to watch TV and make sure the kids didn’t have their phones.  Based on her reaction (which Stef just read now -_ OMG Stef no _\- with a line of crying faces) Stef knew she assumed the worst._

_“Hopefully she answers for me…” Stef said to herself, listening as the line rang for half a second before Lena answered, in tears:_

_“He’s gone, isn’t he?” she managed, crying softly.  “He didn’t make it?”_

_“What?” Stef asked, too shocked to speak._

_“You said not to watch the news or answer any calls…to take the kids’ phones…  He’s dead, isn’t he?” Lena sobbed as if her heart was breaking._

_“I said that because I didn’t want you hearing half the story on the news, love.  Jesus is alive,” Stef managed, through her own tears._

_“What?”_

_“It’s Jesus, Lena.  I couldn’t call sooner because I couldn’t bring myself to leave his side.  I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner.”_

_“He’s alive?” Lena asked, sounding shocked._

_“Got himself arrested breaking smart TVs at a Target in LA.”_

_“Oh my God!  Is he okay?  How does he look?  Is he there with you now?” Lena fired questions at her._

_“The doctors are examining him.  Wouldn’t let me stay.  But when he’s done, we’re coming home, my love.”_

_“When?  God, I have to clean his room!  Will I have time for that?  At least to get the clothes off the floor?”_

_“It will probably be several hours here and then three hours back, so possibly early morning?”_

_“Oh my God.  Are you sure, Stef?  There’s no way this is a false alarm?” Lena begged._

_“When I went to check him over myself, he said, and I quote, “_ Look with your eyes, not with your hands _.”_

_“Oh my God it_  is _him!” Lena squealed.  “Well, should I tell the kids?  Wake Mariana?”_

_“No, let her sleep.  But contact Sanchez and tell her you and the kids won’t be in tomorrow?”_

_“Good idea.  Oh, I love you so much.  And tell Jesus I love him so much and that I can’t wait to see him….”_

_“I will,” Stef promised._

_“How are you?” Lena asked, sounding concerned._

_Stef thought for a minute and then said the single word that captured everything she was feeling:  “Grateful.  I’m grateful.”_

_“It’ll be a long road for him.  For us,” Lena observed softly._

_“But he’s here.  And we’ll go down any road together.”_

_“Yes, we will,” Lena said._

_Stef stayed on the phone, listening to Lena clean.  Lena, listening to Stef breathe, and finally break._

_Lena just listened, murmuring:_

_“He’s home now, my love.  He’s coming home.”_


	60. Chapter 60

_**THEN** _

_**Friday, October 14, 2011** _

_**Home: En Route** _

_**2:23 AM** _

_After, Jesus took a shower.  It was quick, because Jesus didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to.  That was one of the worst things that ever happened to Jesus.  It didn’t help to be awake.  It didn’t help to have them explain what they were doing, if they knew it was gonna hurt why was it okay for them to do it and not Him?  It didn’t make sense and Jesus hoped he would never have to go to the doctor.  If all of them were like Him.  If all of them did things that hurt exactly like Something Else, Jesus couldn’t trust them.  It didn’t even help to not disappear, because it ended up that Jesus didn’t want Mom in his head for this._

_Luckily, she didn’t come.  She must have known it was bad._

_(He hoped Mom didn’t leave for real, like, maybe if he was too much trouble.)_

_His heart started beating even faster, as he tried to wash all of his gross hair.  Jesus hated this hair.  It helped him hide.  It got pulled and yanked, sometimes He even pulled Jesus to his feet or across a room by it.  It was His choice, and He made sure Jesus could never ever cut it._

_There was a person waiting just outside the main door of the bathroom.  Like a doctor, too.  She said there were clothes for him folded on a chair just inside the bathroom.  Jesus hurried to rinse off, glad to not even be able to feel how bad he hurt._

_He found the clothes - a long-sleeved Angry Birds shirt, gray sweats, white socks and black shoes.  Jesus ignored the boxers, even as he put them on.  Everything looked new.  Still had tags so he knew how much somebody spent on him.  Jesus felt sick wondering what he would owe them for being so nice and spending all this money on him._

_Once he was all dressed, he put all his dumbass hair back in a dumbass ponytail and rushed out of the bathroom:_

_“Did she leave?  My mom?”_

_But the doctor lady walked next to Jesus and showed him right where Stef was.  In the waiting room.  He ran to her feeling shaky now - feeling his_ body _now - damn, it hurt._

_“Scissors!” he blurted, breathless.  “I need scissors right now!”_

_Stef squatted so they were eye to eye.  “I want to help you.  Can you tell me why you need them, love?”_

_“To cut this off!” Jesus jerked his own hair roughly over his shoulder.  He was talking too loud, but he couldn’t help it.  His whole body ached.  He was dizzy from being so hungry and thirsty, plus he just got messed with again.  Jesus was feeling out of control.  Too many things felt like Before.  He needed this one thing to be different._

_“I hear you.  I will ask for scissors, okay, love?  Can I cut it for you?  You tell me where?  I won’t hurt you.”_

_Jesus jerked his head up and down.  He didn’t care how or who did it.  He just needed it gone._

_In minutes, she was behind him, snipping through his ponytail way above the rubberband.  His hair would still be kinda long  but this would do for now.  When it was done, Jesus took the hair from her and threw it in the trash._

_“Can we go now?”_

_“We can,” she said as her phone buzzed.  “That’s Mike,” she said checking her texts as Jesus looked on warily.  “You remember Brandon’s dad?”_

_Jesus nodded, even though he didn’t really._

_“Mike drove me here to get you.  So he’s going to drive the squad car back, and you and I can sit in back together.  He picked up some food, so we can eat as we go.”_

_“Me, too?” Jesus asked._

_“Yes, all of us.  You, too.”_

_“Can I have a blanket again?” Jesus asked, nervous.  He didn’t know if he could handle even more cameras._

_“Take this one,” a familiar voice said, handing him a bright yellow fleece.  It was softer than anything Jesus had ever touched.  It felt brand new._

_“Ruby, thank you so much,” Stef said, giving her a hug.  “…For taking care of Jesus.”_

_“Just doing my job,” she said, like it was no big deal._

_“Your shift ended like ten hours ago,” Jesus pointed out absently, arranging the new blanket around himself.  “That one dude cop said you got off at 4:00, right before I even got there.”_

_“That is true,” Ruby nodded, getting down so she could see his eyes.  “But you needed me.  My job is to help when somebody needs me.”_

_Jesus wanted to hug her so bad.  He hated that his body didn’t trust people.  Instead, he just looked at her for a long time.  His nose and throat burned.  “Thank you…” he managed.  “For believing me.  For protecting me…and for the blanket…”_

_“You’re very welcome.  You take care now,” Ruby said, blinking back tears._

_Jesus waved behind him as he and Stef walked toward the exit.  Jesus pulled the blanket up over his head and face and they went outside together.  There were tons of camera flashes and so much noise that Jesus’s head hurt._

_In the car, when it was safe, Stef pulled the blanket off Jesus’s head.  He almost couldn’t breathe from it being like Before.  (That Car.  Covered up.  No air.)  Then he could again and Jesus smelled food.  Not fast food but real.  Stef was opening a take-out box: it had meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans.  Giant cups of water._

_When Stef said he could, Jesus ate everything, in no time._

_**3:55 AM** _

_Jesus was so tired, but he never let himself fall asleep in cars anymore.  Just in case._

_The blanket still felt nice.  So did the clothes.  Jesus thought again about what he might have to do to prove he was thankful.  He knew by now the clothes were from Mike.  So a normal thank you might not be enough._

_Jesus looked at Stef, biting his lip.  He cupped his hand and whispered in her ear:_

_“What do I have to do for the clothes?”_

_“What do you mean, love?”_

_“With the blanket, I just said thank you, but Mike’s a dude…”_

_“Thank you works for both men and women, love.  If you want to tell him thank you for the clothes, that would be fine.”_

_“Then what would he do?” Jesus whispered._

_“Mike?  Say you’re welcome, I think.”_

_“Oh.  That’s it?” Jesus wondered softly._

_“That’s it.”_

_Jesus tried it.  Made himself speak up so Mike could hear and said thank you for the clothes.  Then Mike said you’re welcome and that really was it. Still, Jesus felt kinda like throwing up._

_Mom’s phone buzzed._

_“Who’s that?” Jesus asked.  (Mike was right here, and he was driving so it couldn’t be him.  That would be weird.)_

_“It’s Mama,” Mom smiled. “Would you like to answer it?  Say hello?  She missed you, you know?  Very much.”_

_Hesitantly, Jesus took the phone and answered the call.  “Hey, Mama.”_

_“Oh, Jesus!” she gasped, surprised.  Her voice sounded the exact same.  Jesus wanted to cry hearing it.  “How are you?”_

_“I don’t know,” he admitted._

_So, she went with an easier question next: “What are you doing?”_

_“In the car with Mom and Mike.  I had meatloaf.”_

_“Yeah?  How was it?”_

_Jesus was getting the feeling Mama just wanted to talk to him forever, but except for yesterday, he hadn’t talked on the phone in years.  It was making him nervous.  At least Level 1._

_“Good,” he said, even though he hadn’t tasted it.  “Mom wants to talk to you, I think,” Jesus tried.  It was the nicest way he could think of to hang up with Mama._

_“I love you so much, honey.  I’ll be here when you get home.”_

_“Same house?” he asked._

_“We wanted to stay..so that if you ever could get away and you were close by…you’d know where to come.”_

_“Oh,” he said.  (It sounded like she was crying.  He didn’t know what else to say.)  “Okay.”_

_He handed the phone back to Mom and sank deeper into his blanket._

_**5:00 AM** _

_“We’ll be home in about twenty minutes, love,” Stef said softly.  The sky was starting to get lighter.  “There are some things I need to tell you before we get there, okay?”_

_“Okay,” he whispered.  “What?”_

_“The family’s a bit different now.”_

_Jesus felt sick, but he made himself ask:  “Does Mariana still live there?”_

_(Twins were a package deal.  What happened when Jesus got in That Car?  Did Mariana act out?  Did they not want her anymore?  Did they send her away?)_

_“Yes, love.  She’ll be so glad to see you.”_

_Jesus breathed a sigh of relief.  “How old is Brandon?”_

_“He’s fifteen.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“But, uh…  Mama and I adopted two other kids from foster care.  Callie is fourteen now and Jude is ten.”_

_Jesus stayed quiet, listening._

_“And Mama had a baby.  Your sister, Frankie.  She’s eighteen months old.”_

_Jesus didn’t care about other kids living there, too, as long as there was still room for him.  Otherwise He might break out of jail and come and get Jesus again.  Just to kill him.  Just because He could._

_“Do you have any questions?”_

_“Can I see Mariana?” he whispered in Mom’s ear._

_“Yes, love,” Mom whispered back._

_Jesus waited and then said his last question like a secret, too.  Just in case Mike changed his mind.  “…Are we really going home?”_

_“Yes. We are really going home,” Mom said in her cop voice, so he believed her._

_Jesus sat back, and watched the sun come up.  It was a new day._

_His first day free._


	61. Chapter 61

_**THEN** _

_**Friday, October 14, 2011** _

_**Home: 5:21 AM** _

_Twenty minutes later, Jesus was wringing the blanket in his hands.  His whole body felt tense.  Mike’s cell phone rang, and Stef answered for him since he was driving._

_“That was Captain Roberts,” Stef said.  “She says the press is camped out across the street from the house. So Mike’s going to wait until you say you’re ready, Jesus.  When you’re ready, pull your blanket up again, like at the hospital, so the cameras can’t see you.  Then, Mike will drive us down our street and park in our driveway.  I’ll walk you inside, and when you hear the door close behind us, you take the blanket off your head.  Does that make sense?”_

_Jesus was already ready.  His head was entirely covered by his blanket so no cameras could see him at all.  He nodded, feeling like The Grim Reaper, but not.  Maybe just like himself covered in a blanket.  About to go home._

_Maybe._

_“Tell us when you’re ready, love,” Stef urged softly._

_“Ready,” Jesus said quietly._

_The car started moving and Stef kept reassuring him the whole way.  “We’re turning onto our street, my baby.  There are people from TV stations across the street but Captain Roberts is making sure they can’t come into our yard, okay?  We’re pulling into the drive now.  I’m going to open the door and it’s going to sound loud, okay?  But I’m here with you.  I’ll walk you in just like Ruby and I did before.”_

_Jesus’s throat ached.  He missed Ruby.  He only felt about half safe without her.  And his normal safe-level wasn’t very high._

_“Okay,” he managed._

_“I’m going to walk kind of fast, okay?  So do your best to walk with me.”_

_“You won’t let me fall?”_

_“No, love.  I won’t.”_

_“Okay.”_

_When the door opened, it was quiet for a second.  Then it sounded like a roar of voices.  Jesus went to Level 1, where loudness didn’t matter, and walked with Stef as she held onto him.  He didn’t know if Mike was coming in, too.  He hoped not._

_“Jesus!” The voices screamed.  “Are you happy to be home?”_

Am I home? _The yellow blanket did too good a job blocking out everything.  All Jesus could see was driveway.  Then sidewalk.  (His heart tripped.  Sidewalk.)_

_He stopped walking and Stef whispered, “We are almost there, love.  You’re doing great.  Stay with me.”_

_Jesus made his legs keep going.  Up front steps.  Then wood floor._

Thunk _.  The door closed behind them._

_“Is it safe?” he whispered._

_“Yes, it’s safe, love.  You can take the blanket down now.”_

_But Jesus wasn’t sure.  What if he took it down and it was like a reverse dream?  What if he was back There with the pole and the chains and the mattress and Him?  Still inside the blanket, Jesus looked down._

_No chain on his ankle.  New shoes.  New socks.  New gray sweats.  Angry Birds shirt.  All from Mike.  That’s right.  No handcuffs.  No tape.  No thing over his head like Before just this blanket from Ruby to keep him safe._

_“Hey, my sweet.  You’re welcome to stay in there as long as you need to,” Stef reassured.  “But when you’re ready, Mama’s here and she’d really like to see you.”_

_“I’m really home?” he whispered._

_“Yes, love.  It’s okay to take your time.  But you are home.  I promise you.”_

_“Mama?” he asked, a test.  (If he wasn’t really home, Mama couldn’t really answer him.)_

_“Yeah, honey?”_

_She sounded close.  Jesus inched the blanket down.  First his hair (short and not gross), then his eyes.  Then…_

_“Mama?” he gasped, like it was a dream.  Because it had to be a dream.  Because she was right here and Jesus was clean and had clean clothes and no chains.  (Maybe he died and this was what happened after.  It would be nice for Jacob.  To come home.)_

_“Hey, bud.  That’s a nice blanket.” Mama said.  She looked teary.  Her voice sounded thick._

_The blanket.  Ruby gave it to him.  She took care of him at the police station in LA after he broke all those smart TVs and let him sleep under the table while he waited for Mom.  Ruby was real.  The blanket was real._

_“Can I hug you?” Mama said, like she was begging._

_Jesus stepped forward.  The blanket clutched around his shoulders.  His whole face was showing now.  He still felt numb, but he walked into her arms because she wanted to hug him.  So he let her._

_She cried and he stood still, not moving.  The hug lasted a long time.  It was okay with the blanket on.  But just okay.  Level 1 was there, and Jesus went because it was easier than staying and being hugged.  Sometimes hugs with blankets or Grim Reaper costumes turned into…well…Jesus didn’t want to think about that._

_“Can I see Mariana?” he blurted._

_“Of course,” Mama laughed.  “I’ll go get her now.”_

_It worked, and Mama let go.  It also worked because seeing Mariana for real would prove that he really was home.  At least Jesus hoped it would._

_Stef stayed close and talked to Jesus, but he couldn’t really hear what she was saying.  He was listening for footsteps on the stairs.  But not afraid.  For once, not afraid._

_“What do I have to wake up this early for?”_

_Jesus heard the voice before he saw her.  Chills rose on his arms.  He clutched the blanket tighter.  He didn’t even hear her feet on the stairs, just her voice.  She sounded crabby, and just like he remembered.  Mariana always hated waking up early._

_“Seriously?  It’s 5:30 in the morning,” she whined.  “What’s so important when I could have slept another hour….”_

_Her voice trailed off, as Mariana came around the corner and saw him.  Jesus stood and dropped the blanket.  They stared at each other._

_Mariana had grown.  She was tall, even taller than he was.  But it was still obviously her.  In pajama pants with pumpkins and a top with a big jack-o-lantern smiling._

_She came closer and gasped: “Are you real?”_

_“Are_ you _?” he whispered._

_For the longest time, they just stared.  Then, simultaneously, both reached out one finger, and they poked each other in the arm.  Jesus jumped back.  So did Mari._

_Eventually, Jesus’s legs got tired.  Mariana must’ve noticed them shaking, because she sat on the floor.  Then, Jesus sat too.  They both sat cross-legged without checking, just looking at each other, still._

_“When did you get here?” she wondered finally._

_“Just now,” Jesus said.  “We had to drive kinda far first.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Are you mad?  That it’s early?” he asked._

_“No.  No way.  I’m not mad at all.”_

_Jesus tried to stay awake, but he kept nodding off.  When he crawled under the piano that stood nearby, Mariana sat close._

_“You won’t disappear if I sleep, will you?” he asked._

_“I won’t if you won’t,” she promised._

_Jesus fell asleep looking into Mari’s face as she lay on her stomach, peering at him under the piano._

_He was home._

_Finally, he was home._


	62. Chapter 62

**NOW**

**Wednesday, December 24, 2014**

**Home:  3 years, 2 months and 10 days**

For years, Jesus has dreaded Christmas, because it was so full of triggers for him, and that’s still true.  But now, he’s finally learning how to love it a little bit.  Part of that has been making peace with Isaac’s memory.  And that meant, keeping the promise he had made to his friend.

A week and a half ago, when he pulled out his journal from sixth grade for the first time in years, he read all the entries in it after the fam had gone to bed.  He read about Isaac, coded as “his cousin” for both of their protection.  After he read every single entry, Jesus searched high and low for his Science notebook from the same school year.  He usually kept them together, but it took some serious digging to find it, shoved all the way in back, under a bunch of stuff.

All these years later, and Jesus still had the letter.

That night, he had sought out Mom, and asked if she had an address for Allie Martin.

“ _Why does that name sound familiar_?” she had mused.

“ _Can you just tell me, please, if you know?  She’s from Santa Barbara, but I never got a full address.  I have something I need to give her.  It’s important_.”

“ _I don’t know offhand, but I can do some checking and get back to you_ ,” Mom had said, recognition making her eyes shine with grief.

Jesus had bent down, and given her a hug.  “Thanks, Mom.  I love you.”

A few days after that, he found a yellow Post-It in his mailbox with  _Allie Martin_ written in his mom’s handwriting…and an address.  She was still in Santa Barbara.

That night when everybody was asleep, Jesus slipped into the kitchen where the printer was plugged in.  He laid his notebook letter-side down and made a copy of the original.  (That had been his biggest problem.  For years.  Not knowing how to part with the only piece of Isaac he had but needing to still keep his word somehow.)  A copy would allow him to hold onto the memory of his friend, while also keeping his promise.

Dr. H. was kind of a genius.  

It was also her support and questions that had Jesus now referring to him as Isaac, not Jacob.  He hadn’t really been Jacob at all.  Just like Jesus had never been Josh.  They each were their true selves the whole time.  Going by a different name didn’t change that.

Jesus had thought long and hard about what to send with the letter.  What kind of an explanation to give.  How much to say.  He ended up going to Dr. H. for that part, too, and while the words in his letter to Isaac’s mom came from him, he really needed Dr. H. as moral support while he did it.

_To Isaac’s Mom:_

_My name is Jesus Foster.  Your son was a close friend of mine during a very hard time for both of us.  When he turned 12, I asked him what he wanted most for his birthday.  He said what he wanted most was to write you a letter.  I am sorry it has taken all this time to get it to you, as I promised him I would make sure you got it.  The holidays are hard for me and I am sure they are for you, too.  I hope this will make it a little easier.  Isaac was a great friend and we called each other bros.  We were family for each other.  Something you should know is He gave us other names There.  I was Josh. I never could tell Isaac my real name because of threats made to me.  But Isaac shared his when he told me how to sign the letter by him. I am so sorry for your loss.  I loved your son very much like I do my own family._

_Sincerely,_

_Jesus_

The letter had taken a long time to get right.  Mailing it was super hard.  But it was out there, in the world.  Maybe in Santa Barbara by now.  Maybe being read by Allie.  Maybe sitting unopened in her mailbox.  Jesus had to be okay with whatever choice she made.  He could only control writing the letter, and sending the one Isaac wanted sent.

He walks out of his room and toward the stairs, feeling his heart swell with something like pride.  Now, there are carpet runners laid down and paid for by him, too.  He had asked for his Christmas present to be whatever it cost to carpet the stairs.  He never dreamed it would be $100 for a few pieces of carpet with adhesive on the back, but Frankie’s worth any price.   

There was also a brand new, smaller railing on the wall, thanks to Brandon and Mike.  (In the end, Jesus hadn’t been able to ask Mike, or work with it on him, but he had asked Brandon if he could work on it with his dad.)  It was a way for them to spend some time together in the house, which is what Brandon said he really missed.  

“I’m using my brand new railing, Jesus!  And my feet aren’t slippery!” Frankie offers with a big smile.

“Hold on there, buddy.  One sec.  Mom?” he calls.

“Yes?”

“Can you take a picture of us with your phone and send it to Ruby? Tell her about how special this one is to me, and how we fixed the stairs all up so she could use them the best way.  Right?” he asks, holding tight to Frankie.

Even years later, Ruby sends his family a holiday card.  This year, it’s a photo card, showing her and her husband and their five boys. Jesus hadn’t known at the time she helped him that Ruby was a mom, too.  But it made so much sense.

“Who’s Ruby?” Frankie wonders, as Mom gets set up and asks if they’re ready.

“She’s saved me from ever having to go back to the bad guy’s house, and she protected me while I waited for Mom to come and get me,” Jesus tells her quietly.  “I’m ready,” he nods at Mom.  “Are you ready, buddy?”

“Yes, I am,” Frankie answers, confident.

They smile, and Mom takes the picture.  

Jesus walks next to Frankie down the rest of the steps and checks out the shot of the two of them.  “Okay, that’s awesome.  Can you send it to me?”

“Of course I can,” Mom says and zaps it to him.

“You  _like pictures_  now?” Frankie asks incredulous.

“I like pictures when people ask first, right?  Pictures when I’m happy?”

“Oh yeah, because privacy, right?” Frankie remembers.

“That’s right.”

“Jesus?  Ruby says she is very proud of you for helping your sister, and that she’s glad to see your smiling faces,” Mom passes along.

It pretty much makes his whole day.  Hearing from Ruby is still one of the best things ever.

Jesus smiles and then pauses awkwardly, standing and waiting.  He wonders if anyone will connect where he is right now.  Frankie looks up first, and plows into him, with a fierce hug.  “You’re under the mistletoe!” she giggles.

For a long time, the mistletoe had been one of those things that just got to Jesus.  A thing where there was such a strong expectation to kiss or be kissed whether you wanted it or not?  Well, that was not Jesus’s thing.  So they adapted.  This was the first year mistletoe meant that if you just went and stood under it and waited?  Your family could come and give you a hug.

Jesus liked it because sometimes the words still got all jammed up inside.  Sometimes it’s easier to move than it is to talk.

After dinner, while everyone’s busy cleaning up, Jesus goes out by the tree with his pillowcase stuffed with seven little presents.  He puts one in each stocking hung by the fireplace.  He figures it’s the best way to ensure they don’t get lost with all the bigger gifts, size-wise.

When all the cleaning is done, Brandon comes out to the living room and sits down at the piano.  Starts noodling.  It sounds random.  And then it doesn’t.  Earlier this week, he had asked if Jesus was familiar with a particular song.  Jesus looked it up on YouTube and said no.  Brandon asked if it might bother him to hear.  (“…you know, like if I played it on piano or something…”)  Jesus noted a few things in the lyrics that made him feel weird, and Brandon agreed they’d be easy to change.

It’s that song.

The sound brings everybody else to the living room, too.  Mom and Mama, Jude and Callie with two cups of hot chocolate each and candy canes melting inside each.

For a while, until everybody gets settled, Brandon just plays the instrumental part of the song.  The piano sounds good.  Now it makes sense why the piano tuner dude had been here out of the blue.

Mariana comes over and extends a hand.  He smiles.  Takes it.  She’s seemed like a weight’s been lifted off her since she talked to him about her guilt gut. She even asked if she could keep the story he wrote about her.  Of course, he said yes.  It’s why he ripped it out of the notebook in the first place.

They walk together over to the piano.  Callie follows with Jude.  They stand kinda in a line behind Brandon.  Frankie is there, trying to keep her balance by leaning on Jesus’s legs.

“Want me to pick you up?” he asks, and she nods.  He gets his hand back from Mariana, to be sure Frankie is secure and then reaches for Mari again. Brandon is still playing and all of a sudden, Callie’s singing low.  Mariana’s singing high:

“ _The lake is frozen over.  The trees are white with snow.  And all around, reminders of you, everywhere I go_.”  Mariana squeezes his hand.  

“ _It’s late and morning’s in no hurry, but sleep won’t set me free.  I lie awake and try to recall how you felt beside me.  When silence gets too hard to handle and the night too long._ ”  (Mom’s here now, one hand on Brandon’s shoulder and an arm around Jesus.)  

“ _This is how I see you: in the snow on Christmas morning.  Love and happiness surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky.  I keep this moment by and by…_ ” Mari and Callie sing and damn it if he isn’t getting a little misty.  Then Frankie shocks the hell out of him, coming in with near perfect pitch:

“ _Oh I miss you_!”

“ _Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, my love. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, my love_.”  (Mama’s come over, now, too. Holding the other one of Mariana’s hands, and one of Callie’s.  Callie’s holding Jude’s.  They are all together.  All connected.)   

_“Sense the joy fills the air and I daydream and I stare.   Sense the joy fills the air and I daydream and I stare up at the tree and I see your star up there_.”

“ _This is how I see you: in the snow on Christmas morning.  Love and happiness surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky.  I keep this moment by and by_ ,” The girls sing, and Frankie comes in again, near perfect:

“ _Oh, I miss you_!”

“ _Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, my love. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, my love_.”

The song ends and you can hear a pin drop.  Because you just don’t get this kind of musical talent in any old family.  But it just so happens that three sisters, none of them biologically related can sing circles around anyone Jesus has ever met.  (Jesus can’t sing at all, and while Jude can, he won’t unless it’s for choir or a musical.  Mom sounds terrible, and he suspects Mama is really good, but she won’t sing at all, except in the car alone, so Jesus can’t really judge.)  Brandon’s still got the touch with the piano.  You’d never know he hadn’t played in years.

“How did you learn to sing like that?” Jesus asks Frankie, impressed.

Frankie shrugs.  “My sisters.  We practiced.”

“You did?”

“We sounded really beautiful, didn’t we?” she says, sounding sure.

“Absolutely,” he nods.  “You are so talented.”

“So, anybody know any more obscure Christmas tunes?” Brandon asks.  “Requests?  Anyone?  Jesus?  Anyone?”

“I’m good.  Thank you so much,” he says, eyes shining.  “That was awesome.”


	63. Chapter 63

**NOW**

**Thursday, December 25, 2014**

**Home: 3 years, 2 months and 11 days**

“Jesus!” Frankie stage-whispers.  

He groans and buries his face in his pillow.  

“Jesus!  It’s Christmas and Santa came and there’s presents!  Even ones for Moms!”

“Yeah, that’s great.  Awesome.  Go to sleep, okay?”  He opens one eye to check the time.  “It’s 2 AM, dude.  Seriously?”

“Does that mean it’s Christmas?” Frankie whispers again.

“No.  Christmas only starts when it’s light out.  So go back to sleep, okay, buddy?  I’ll see you when it’s light out.”

“I can’t go downstairs in the dark by myself…” Frankie protests.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause you should be sleeping when it’s dark.  Wait.  How did you know there were presents downstairs if you can’t get down there?”  (For a terrifying second he imagines Frankie sledding down the staircase like Kevin in  _Home Alone_.)

“Jude…”

Exhausted, Jesus, pushes back his blankets and feels his way to the doorway to pick Frankie up.  He carries her to Jude’s room first.  The door is open, but only Brandon sleeps inside.  

Carefully, Jesus walks down the stairs with Frankie and looks around.

“Santa and the reindeers eated all of our cookies and milk!” Frankie whispered right in his face.

Jesus can see Jude by the tree and walks up to him.  Nudges him with a foot.

“You wake her, you take her,” he says.

But Jude doesn’t move.  Jesus listens, and hears him breathing all heavy.  

“Who checks out all the presents and then  _falls asleep_?” Jesus scoffs.  He sits down on the couch with Frankie, to stare at the tree, all lit.  Presents stacked all around.

He snags a blanket and covers Jude, sprawled on the floor.  Then goes back to the couch and covers himself and Frankie with the yellow fleece he’d worn down from his room.

“Can we open presents yet?” Frankie whispers.

“Not yet.  Look at the tree, okay?  See how nice the lights are.”

“I say presents are nicer,” Frankie pouts.  But soon her breathing evens out, and she’s snoring.  Jesus crashes, too.

The next thing he knows, it’s like deja vu.  Somebody else is whispering his name.  He opens his eyes and squints in the morning light.  Frankie’s still sleeping hard, sprawled all over him.  Jesus glares at Mariana.

“What?”

“Jeez, Merry Christmas to you, too, Mr. Grinch,” she whispers.  “I just wanted to know if I could take your picture.  You guys look so cute.”

He grimaces.  “No.  Memorize it.  I’m going back to sleep.”

“Callie and I are making cinnamon rolls whenever you decide you want breakfast.”

“Huh?” Jude asks, too loud, jerking up from his spot on the floor.

Frankie jumps in her sleep, and whimpers.  Jesus pats her back.  Wishes his bro didn’t have such weird habits in his sleep.  The teeth grinding was enough to have Jesus throwing all the couch pillows at Jude during the last few hours.  Luckily he stopped after Jesus threw the last one.

“Cinnamon rolls, nerd,” Mari says, reaching down to set a Santa hat on Jude’s head.

“Mmm,” he says, still half asleep.

By 8:00, Moms are up, which means everybody else is up, too.  Nobody can sleep through Mom’s tone deaf performance of Don’t Save It All for Christmas Day, which was another song Jesus has never even heard of before.

They eat cinnamon rolls and it’s then that Jesus realizes he hasn’t showered.  He doesn’t want to hold anybody up but a shower on Christmas is more than nice, it’s necessary.  So even though everyone’s looking about ready to open stuff, Jesus has to bail.

“I have to shower, guys, I’m sorry.  I’ll go quick, okay?  Maybe if Moms say it’s okay, you guys can open your stocking presents now…”  He’s saying this mostly to hold off a major meltdown from Frankie, who is tired and hyper from all the cinnamon roll icing. (He’d rather not be there when they see the haikus he wrote for all of them.  He means them.  They’re just private.  And if somebody read theirs aloud or passed it around?  That would be awful.)

Jesus sends a pleading look Mama’s way.  Everybody’s dressed in red or green.  (He’ll have to bust out his best long sleeved tee shirt for the day.  Does he have a red or green one?)  Mama’s got her necklace of holiday lights with the switch that turns them on and off.  Jesus loves that thing.  It’s holiday tradition for sure.  

“Sure, sounds good, bud, if you’re okay with opening yours when you come back…” she says.

“Yeah.  Totally,” he agrees.

“Jesus wait,” Brandon says, shocking him.  B hasn’t said two words this morning, because he’s used to sleeping past noon on breaks and weekends.  8 AM is still super early for him.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Your Christmas present,” he says, handing him a scrap of paper.

He doesn’t check it out until it falls out of his pajama pants in the bathroom.  It’s a YouTube link and a title: Wintersong.  Confused, Jesus searches Wintersong and Brandon’s YouTube channel.  When he finds the video and hits play, everything makes sense.  It’s just an audio recording against a snowy winter landscape.  But then the piano starts and Jesus recognizes the song Mariana, Frankie, Brandon and Callie did last night.  This isn’t like the  impromptu version they did last night.  This is different.  Sounds professional.

Jesus loops it and jumps in the shower, so easily anchored in the present through something way difficult, by not only Brandon, but his sisters, too.  He’s surprised out of his mind almost when he hears Mama and Jude dueting on the “sense of joy” lines, and then Mom holding her own with the short line “As you throw your arms up to the sky.”

His whole family.  His whole family did this for him.  (How, he has no idea.  Maybe when Jesus was in therapy each week?)  But he doesn’t care how they did it, just that they did it at all.

Jesus lets the song play through twice, because it’s short, and because he needs to hear it again.  He loves them so much.  He hopes the verses he wrote for them convey as much, and just how much this means to him.

When he finds them all in the living room, each with a giant Christmas themed reusable bag to hold their presents, and any wrapping paper and boxes picked up, he breathes a sigh of relief.  He spots Brandon sitting in a chair in the corner and walks over to him.

“Dude.  Thank you.  That was epic.”  And for the first time since he’s been home, Jesus embraces Brandon.

“I got your poem,” is all he says back, but Jesus can tell his voice has gotten thick.  Jesus remembers what he wrote, word for word, to Brandon:

_Invisible Boy,_

_Your music is my anchor._

_Make the world better._

And he had.  He’s playing piano again.  The hug lasts a bit, but it’s okay.  When Jesus steps back, nobody comments.  He goes to everybody else and hugs them, too.  Tells them thank you.  Because what they did matters.

Finally, it’s time for presents, which is good, ‘cause Frankie looks fit to explode from the anticipation.  

Jesus has a plan to get him through this, too.  He’s gonna take breaks. As many as he needs.  Moms have told him they won’t pressure him to stay with the family for all of it, and that he can step away whenever he needs it.

The first round of gifts goes okay.  Frankie gets a ton of Frozen stuff and a Doc McStuffins mobile clinic that she plays with while turning her back to Jesus.  (“So you don’t have to see this and be scared.”)

Everything’s going pretty well.  Jesus has taken three breaks.  They’re trying to keep the mess to a minimum, and Jesus doesn’t have to worry about a mess too near him because his only gift so far as been the music from the fam.  He’s enjoying just watching everyone else, when he realizes they’re nearing the end.  Everybody has “big” gifts that come last.  Jesus won’t, because he got his already.  He got some smaller stuff, but he spent the money Moms would have spent on him on making the stairs work for Frankie.

So, he’s shocked when he’s handed a “big” present with all the rest of the kids.

“These are from Grams,” Mama says, and Jesus opens the coolest long pillow that he could totally sleep next to, or on, or whatever.  When he squeezes it, he realizes it’s got that awesome memory foam in it.

He’s about to check out what the other kids got - sees Mariana with some clothes and Brandon with a new luggage set when a sound stops him.  It’s familiar.  Chilling.

_Zzzzzzzip._

Nobody else reacts.  Because nobody else has been zipped in a duffel bag before.  Just Jesus.  (Just Isaac.)  He gets up and steps away to the closest room.  The kitchen.

So not an ideal situation.

He’s breathing too deep, braced over the sink, when Jesus hears Jude’s voice behind him:

“Whatever it is, I have your back.”

Jesus nods.  Shows his hands, out of habit, because they are in the kitchen after all.

“What are you doing here?” he gasps.

“You got all pale and walked out.  Wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“Everything okay?”  Brandon now.  

Jesus turns, angry, but not.  “Your damn duffel bag.  Sorry.  It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t know,” Brandon admits.  “I’m sorry.  Whatever it was, I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah…  Where’d Jude go?” Jesus asks, to distract himself from the fact that his heart is beating like a damn jackhammer.  

“I asked Frankie if I could give you this,” he says, like Jesus’s words have conjured him out of the air.  Jude’s back in the kitchen holding a badly-wrapped gift with too much tape.  It says:

_JESUSFRANKIE_

Jesus can’t think. Can’t talk.  Just shakes his head.

“I’ll open it in there and come back,” Jude says, running to the living room.

Brandon stays close but doesn’t touch him.

In seconds Jude’s back, holding a bottle of blue glitter.  He hands it to Jesus.  “She and Mama made it for you.  Frankie was so excited she told me about it early.  So that’s how I knew.”

“Sit down,” Brandon urges.

Jesus does.  Jude puts the glitter bottle in front of him.  Brandon sits beside him.  “Have you ever tried to watch just one piece the whole time?”

Jesus is trying that, when Jude comes back to the table with the covered plate of pickle rollups Mama made at his request.

He takes three off the plate, and sets them all in front of Jesus, no plate.

“These are yours,” Jesus says, staring at his one piece of glitter until he loses track of it.

“And now they’re yours,” Jude says, nudging them closer.

“Ever hear of a plate?  Seriously, pickle rollups on the clean table…” Brandon reprimands lightly.  Standing, he goes to the crockpot and stabs some Little Smokies, grabs a plate and brings them over.  “In case you wanted something hot.”

“Is it weird if I play the song again?” Jesus asks.  “I just need to get the sound out of my head.”

“Yeah, I haven’t heard it,” Jude says eagerly, but he keeps calm, too.  It helps Jesus to not get too wound up.

“If you hated the Christmas Eve version, we had something else we were gonna do instead…” Brandon offers, making Jesus laugh unexpectedly.  

“That’s a lot of pre-planning…” Jesus manages.

“Hey, you’re worth it,” Jude says easily, and nods, totally confident.

He plays the song again, with the glitter and the food.  And it helps.  But he still stays in the kitchen until the luggage is out of sight.

“Hey, buddy!” Frankie exclaims.  “Did you like my Super Glitter Bomb Blaster I made ya?”

“I do.  I always wanted a Super Glitter Bomb Blaster.  How did you know?”

“I just know,” Frankie answered cryptically.  “Hey, can I have some pickles?”

Moms check in, and he has to keep his distance from Mom because his handcuff fear is at an all-time high.  Mariana stays nearby and Callie offers Mrs. Longbottom if Jesus is in need of her assistance.  He says no thanks.  

They eat a big lunch and that helps some.  

They watch the Cooking Channel and that helps some more.

Before he knows it, it’s night, and the day has gotten away in a haze of self care: music, glitter, and lots of food.  Frankie crashed by the tree surrounded by presents that she refused to move.  Mari takes a picture so she can show Jesus.  (He hopes Mariana will delete it after.)  But she looks like Jesus wishes he could look.  Totally relaxed.  Guard down.  Surrounded by good memories.

“I loved all your poems,” she told him, after giving them both hot chocolate and candy cane refills.

“You read  _all of them_?” he asks.

“Yeah.  I didn’t know you could write like that.  I think my favorites were,  _mine_ , of course…”

( _You may not know this_

_But you saved me, just by_

_Never leaving me_.)

“ …but I also really liked Frankie’s…”

( _You are my sunshine_

_On so many cloudy days._

_Shine on, Francesca_.)

…Brandon’s and Mama’s, too.”

( _Where the wild things are_

_You were so undaunted that_

_You held onto me_.)

Jesus smiles.  “You realize that’s over half of them, right?”

“Yes, I realize that.  I’m kind of a math genius…”

“I’m gonna probably go to bed…with this…” he says, holding out the cup.  He bends down, dropping a kiss on her head.  “Night, sis.  Love you.  Thanks for my present again.  I love it more than you know.”

“You don’t love it more than I love you,” she says softly.

“Not possible,” he grins, and walks upstairs.  The living room’s picked up, so it’s okay.

At the doorway to his room, Jesus stops and checks his mail.  Ruby’s Christmas card had been in there.  And some others. But this time, there’s only one envelope.  He hasn’t thought to check it since yesterday morning.  More mail had come since then.

He brings it in and puts down his haul from the day.  Gets comfortable on the giant pillow from Grams, and squints at the envelope in his hands.

_A. Martin._

_Santa Barbara._

Oh shit.

With shaking hands, Jesus rips open the envelope and and shakes out a piece of yellow legal paper.  Reads:

_Dear Jesus,_

_I can’t tell you how much it meant to receive the letter from Ike just in time for Christmas.  While my heart is still, and will always be broken, without my little boy, I want you to know it comforts me to know he had a friend like you looking out for him.  Enclosed is a photo for you to keep._

_Thank you,_

_Allie (Isaac’s mom)_

Hesitantly, Jesus shakes out the picture, flipping it so he doesn’t have to see the image until he’s ready.  The back reads:  

_Ike playing in the snow.  South Lake Tahoe.  December 22, 2009._

Just three days before he was taken.  This is probably one of the last pictures she has of her son, and she sent it to Jesus.

He takes a deep breath and flips it over…and there’s Isaac.  He’s laughing, and snow is falling all around him.  He looks so alive.  So there.  So right now.

Jesus smiles, even as tears fall down his cheeks.  Song lyrics are there in his head instead of thoughts, because Jesus can’t think past the lump in his throat:

_And this is how I see you:_

_In the snow on Christmas morning._


	64. Epilogue

**Sunday, March 31, 2019**

**Home: 7 years, 5 months and 17 days**

In two days, Francesca’s turning nine years old, but the whole family is celebrating today.  Right now, it’s just Francesca and her two brothers, Jude and Jesus, who live at home  Her favorite is Jesus.  The rest of her brothers and sisters are in college or just moved out.  (Callie and Mariana are in college.  Brandon’s just moved out.)  Francesca wants to be a dancer and an artist when she grows up.

This is the first time in a long time all of them are together.  Francesca likes it when they are together, because they aren’t very much.  She has to stay in her room a lot today, because Jesus and Jude and moms are decorating and doing stuff, and she doesn’t get to help.

(She did help Jesus bake her birthday cake.  It’s confetti cake with green frosting like a monster and sprinkles on top.) Mama told them a story of when Jesus and Mariana tried to bake her a cake when they were Francesca’s age all by themselves and it was gross, but she ate it anyway.  Jesus laughs.  That’s how Francesca know it’s an okay story to laugh at, too.

At school, the kids tease her about how she walks and think they know a lot better than her what she should do.  She stopped being Frankie, because they said it like she was a baby.  (You can’t say Francesca in a baby voice, or you just sound silly.)

Francesca’s watching on the porch for Callie and Mariana to get here.  They’re bringing the ice cream, yum!  She really want a bike for her birthday, but she thinks she won’t be able to ride one without training wheels.  All the other kids were done with training wheels forever ago.  But Francesca still needs hers for balance.

She has another worry, too.

“Jesus,” Francesca whispers.

“Hey, buddy,” (He always calls her buddy.  She doesn’t know why.  But he claims she started it when she didn’t, she doesn’t think.)

Jesus is 20 like Mariana.  They’re twins, but that doesn’t mean they do everything the same.  Like Jesus lives at home with me, and Mariana doesn’t.  Both are okay.

“What’s up?” he asks, sitting on the porch swing next to her.

“I really don’t want to be nine…” Francesca tells him seriously.

“Why?” he asks.  He listens to her better than anyone else.  That’s because he’s her best friend.  Francesca doesn’t have kid best friends because they all treat her different.  Jesus treats her the same.

She bites her lip.  Sometimes, talking about this is okay, and sometimes it’s not.  She won’t know until she starts.  “You know the bad guy that took you to his house that one time?”

Jesus nods.  

“Will that happen to  _me_  when  _I’m_  nine?” she worries.

“Buddy, I didn’t get kidnapped because I was nine.  I got kidnapped because a guy did a stupid thing.”

His words don’t make sense.  She squints at him.  “Tell me in nine year old words,” she says.

“No.  You’re not going get kidnapped just because you’re nine.  You remember what we talk about?  Don’t walk places by yourself.  Don’t take rides from people you don’t know even if they seem nice, and even if they say they know Moms.”

“I know.  I just…” her voice hitches.

“Hey….  There’s no crying on your birthday!”

“Mariana!” Francesca screams, but Jesus is already up and hugging her like he hasn’t seen her in a million years.

–

Mariana can barely hang onto her balloon bouquet, Jesus is squeezing her so hard.  It’s been so hard being at school while he’s not.  It’s the longest they’ve been apart since 2007.  Luckily now they can FaceTime and call and Facebook chat, and they do.  Every day.

But it’s not the same.

She’s studying to become a legal advocate for kids, which means she needs a law degree.  That means tons of school.  She misses her family, though. Jesus, most of all.

After the epic hug from Jesus, Mariana scoops up Francesca.  She’s still super skinny, because she burns calories like crazy just from moving around.  Mariana holds onto her a little extra too.

“Why so sad?” Mari wonders.

Francesca exchanges a look with Jesus.  In unison both shrug and chorus, “No reason…”

She should have known.  (Obviously porch time equals private, Mariana.  Duh.)  Instead, she offers Francesca a smile and says, “You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were Jesus’s twin, not me.”

Francesca’s face splits into the widest grin.  She loves being told she and Jesus are close.  She often says he’s her best friend.  That makes sense.

He’s Mariana’s best friend, too.

“My dear!” a voice reprimands from behind Mariana.  “Get out of the doorway or this will melt!”

–

Callie hasn’t brought out Mrs. Georgina Feathersby Longbottom in years.  She thinks it’s time to break her back in.  Just like she hopes, she gets a smile from Jesus, and uproarious laughs from Francesca.  Callie’s boyfriend, AJ, doesn’t know what to make of the voice, but a smile from Jesus is pretty major.

Even five years later, their trust feels a little dented from her senior project debacle.  She ended up getting an A on her amended project, and she got her phone back on graduation day.  (Yes, Moms were serious about that one.)

Now 21, Callie’s majoring in child psych and minoring in photography.  Today, when she goes anywhere to photograph anyone, she always asks: “Hey can I take your picture?  I’m Callie and I’m studying to be a photographer.”

Not everyone says yes.  In fact, a lot don’t.  But it’s important that she gives them the choice.  (And if people don’t work out, Callie takes great pictures of rooms, of nature, and of anything she finds beauty in.  Or sadness.  Or truth.)

She hurries inside with the ice cream, finding Jude and greeting him with a kiss on the cheek and then leaving the cartons with him.

–

“Thanks,” Jude calls at Callie’s back, not knowing what to do with two cartons of ice cream.  

He walks into the kitchen.  “You know I have homework to do.  I don’t have time for this today.”  

“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you went to Taylor’s Friday night and spent the whole of Saturday there,” Mom reprimands.

“Mom.  Nobody does their homework Friday night,”

“People who don’t want to be grounded with no social life to speak of most certainly do,” Mom cautions.

Crap.

“I’m sorry.  Lesson learned.  I’ll do better.”

“What?” Jesus asks, looking concerned.  (He has this way of showing up right when somebody in the family is getting in trouble.  It freaks Jesus out still.)  

Even though it’s been a long time, Jude still remembers Jesus back when he first came home and had that knife.  The talk on the porch a few years later had helped, but he still had to talk to Moms a few times because of not feeling safe around Jesus.  Mostly around October.  Luckily that’s a ways away.  Jude will be in college the next time October comes.  Studying creative writing or journalism.  He wishes the theater programs at colleges weren’t so competitive, or he’d totally do that.

“Nothing, I’m just gonna do my homework,” Jude says.

“Not right now you’re not, love.  I need your help bringing the food outside,” Mama interjects.

“I’ll help,” Jesus offers.

“I’ll help, too.  Hey, Mom.  Where’s Cranky Frankie?” Brandon asks, walking in with Talya.

“I heard that!” Francesca exclaims, pouting.

–

“B, don’t tease your sister, please,” Mom says, and just like that, Brandon’s back.

“Here, Stef, let me help,” Talya says.  (They’ve been dating since before Jesus came home.  She’s pretty much one of the family now.)  He’s thinking about marriage, but never about kids.  Just not his thing.

He’s got an office job that pays the bills, but his real passion is his YouTube channel where he takes requests for piano covers of different songs.  He’s got a lot of followers.  It’s nice to play again.

Brandon takes some paper plates and plastic silverware outside.  Through the window, he can see Moms kissing.  He would say it’s gross, but he’s glad they’re still together.

–

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Stef and Lena have been together for sixteen years, and married for five.  They’d be lying if they said this hasn’t been a hard road for them.  Ironically, it was in the years after Jesus came home that their marriage became rocky, with Lena rehired at Anchor Beach as principal and Stef still a cop with the SDPD.

They hit a few rough patches and even thought of divorcing.  But Lena suggested counseling, and since Stef never wants it to be said that she’s a quitter, she gave it a shot.

Now, they are at the point where they can make their marriage more of a priority.  They do a couple’s retreat every year, and have date nights every week, where they talk about what’s going on with each other.  Not the house.  Not the kids.  Them.  As whole people.  As women.  (Jesus is comfortable watching Francesca while they go out, even overnight, as long as another sibling - usually Jude - is also home.)

So far, it’s working - prioritizing themselves and their marriage.

Communication is not always easy, but they’re working on it.  On showing each other they appreciate each other.  On being there when they need one another.

It’s hard work, but as they always say, it’s worth it.

–

Sometimes it still strikes Jesus just how grateful he is.  Seven years home and the feeling hasn’t gone away.  In fact, it’s gotten stronger.

He never got another letter from Allie Martin, but keeps the picture of Isaac tucked in that notebook, right next to the letter to his mom.  Sometimes he still looks at it.  Sometimes, it still hurts like hell, because he’s here and Isaac isn’t and there really is no rhyme or reason for it.

Even though he’s 20 and technically should be on his own, Jesus isn’t yet.  He kinda still feels like he should get a couple more years at home, to make up for the ones he lost.  Luckily, Moms have never pushed him to leave.

In a way it’s nice with less kids around the house.  It means less unpredictability.  Less chaos.  But it’s quieter, too, and Jesus learned pretty quick he needed to fill that quiet with something.  He doesn’t see Dr. H. anymore because she works with teenagers and Jesus is past that point now, but he still does therapy and support groups.  Sometimes he speaks at them.  Sometimes not. His biggest passion these days is tweeting for social justice type causes @ItsHeyZeus: Mainly, to missing kids.  To let them know they are not alone.  To stay strong.  That people will never stop looking for them.  He tells them don’t give up.

(It’s everything he wished he had Then.  Somewhere to turn.  Someone to listen.)

Just like that, lunch is eaten and it’s time for cake and presents.  He scoots in next to Francesca as she gets ready to blow out her candles.

“Don’t be afraid to turn nine,” he whispers.  “At nine, you’re at the strongest you have ever been.  The smartest.  Okay?  Don’t ever be afraid of turning nine.”

“‘Cause you’ll always be here for me?”

“Absolutely.  I always have your back.” (He feels Mariana slip her hand into his.  Squeeze.)

“Okay…” Francesca says, and she blows out the candles.

After the cake and the presents, everyone would normally leave, but Francesca begs to play a game, all of them together.  (It won’t really be all of them together, since Callie and AJ and Brandon and Talya did have to jet early.  Brandon has work and Callie has school stuff.)

Just because she knows it bugs them, Mom wants to play Scrabble.  They pair off: Jesus and Mariana, Mom and Francesca, and Mama and Jude.

“Don’t you have school stuff?” Jesus asks softly as they all pick their letters.

“I mean, yeah.  But it doesn’t take priority over this,” Mariana shrugs.

It doesn’t take long to remember that Scrabble so isn’t Jesus’s game.  There’s too much going on.  It’s hard to focus.  And in the end Mariana just scores 60-point words by herself anyway.  In the middle of the game, he gets up and starts making sure she’ll have enough leftovers to take back to school with her.

“Vixen!  That’s 21 points!  I am so good!” Jude cheers.

“Excuse me?  Who thought of vixen?” Mama wonders, smiling.

“Fine.   _We_  are so good!” Jude amends.

“Mariana, do you want potato salad?” Jesus asks.

“Hmm…  Cabbage!” Mariana exclaims.

“We don’t  _have_  cabbage, genius,” Jesus teases.

“No!   _Cabbage_!  Our word, Jesus.  With our letters.”

“Okay but cabbage is only 14 points,” Mom insists.  “Are you sure you don’t want to think of a better use for all those letters?” she asks.

“Yeah.  14 points is not a lot of points…” Francesca insists.

“No, because Jesus and I used all our letters and now we get to draw more and keep playing,” Mariana  says gleefully.

“So…no potato salad?” Jesus asks.

“Um,  _yes_  potato salad,” Mariana says like withholding it would be an insult.

“Okay.  Let’s just say I’ll give you some of everything…”

“Ooh, but no cheese, please…and no meat.  And oh…potato salad has eggs in it doesn’t it?”

“Cake?” Jesus tries.

“Yes!” Mariana cheers.  Jesus isn’t sure whether she got another word on the board and is beating the other teams or she’s saying yes to cake.  He decides to give her some anyway, and not tell her there’s eggs in that, too.  She needs to eat something.

“Honey, come and sit down,” Mama calls.

Jesus does and they finish the game.  Mariana beats everyone all by herself, and Jesus sends her off with a giant piece of monster cake and a hug.  “Miss you.  FaceTime me, okay?  I’ll help you study.”

“You will?” Mari squints.

“Well, I’ll  _distract_ you while you study so maybe just text when you’re done.  At least to say goodnight.”

“Yeah, of course.  Love you.”

“Love  _you_ ,” he returns.

Mariana makes the rounds, hugging everyone and then stops by him one last time.  “Really, Jesus?  Cake?”

“You just ate a piece five minutes ago at Francesca’s party, like another one to help you study is really gonna be so bad.”

She frowns.  “Ooh.  You’re right.  I’ll probably need the sugar.”

“Okay bye, I miss you.  Text if you need me.”

“I miss you, and same.” Jesus says back, because even knowing they will be apart makes them start missing each other early.

Once she’s gone, the house seems so much quieter.  That could be because Moms are out watching Francesca ride her new bike, and Jude’s doing all his homework at the last possible second.

Jesus is on the couch, on his laptop, when a message pops up through the email he has attached to his Twitter account:

_Jesus,_

_I follow you on Twitter, I have for a long time.  And I have wanted to talk to you for a while, but I didn’t know what to say except…I’m like you.  And how do I move on?  You are a role model to me and I saw your tweets when I was missing.  They gave me hope, but I’m not sure how to start moving on now that I am home.  It’s been months.  I’m so glad to be home but I’m scared all the time.  I just want to be normal._

_Sincerely,_

_Ava_

Jesus takes a deep breath and starts writing back:

_Ava,_

_You are normal.  It’s normal to be scared after what we’ve been through.  So, it makes sense that you’ll move through your experience, too, not on with your life and away from it.  It’s okay to need help.  I’m not sure of your age, but let me give you the name and number of a great doctor I know who might be able to refer you to somebody, her name is Dr. Holly Hitchens…  Please take care, and believe that you did everything right, because you made it home.  And as long as you’re alive there’s hope.  So hang on.  And know that with the right support you’ll be okay._

_Jesus_


End file.
